


A Sunset in Watercolour

by Adertily



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alpha Adora (She-Ra), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Beach House, Bottom Catra (She-Ra), Childhood Friends, Claiming Bites, F/F, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Kinda a human au, Mating Bond, Minor Character Death, Modernised and toned down omegaverse, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Catra (She-Ra), Omega Verse, Philosophical discussions of claiming bites, Reconciliation, Sharing a Bed, Smut, Top Adora (She-Ra), adora has a dick, but you can visualise it either way, chapter 7 has:, plot heavy, sometimes, there's no subtle way of saying this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:47:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 41,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26341387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adertily/pseuds/Adertily
Summary: A scrapbook of memories and this is the one that sits on the very first page, but she knows she knew Catra long before that too, and they’d fallen together again every summer like the rest of the year didn't even exist.It was a mystery to Adora, still, as to why everything had so violently torn apart that last July after they'd presented. She’d been expecting a little anger, resentment maybe, but she hadn’t prepared herself for four years of cold, absent silence.She accepts it was her fault.She wishes she knew why.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 328
Kudos: 943





	1. Chapter 1

The golden oak of the doorframe resists against Adora’s hands for a moment, and she worries she’s forgotten how the contraption works, before something groans, the panels finally fold, and the door slides open.

And suddenly she’s no longer in the living room. She’s out on the back porch, the afternoon sun falling languidly on her bare shoulders, the salty breeze catching the loose strands of her hair, and the ocean -

The ocean. 

That same brilliant shade of cerulean from her childhood - but it’s the sounds that hit her first, the tumble of the waves, the melodic calls of the birds flying overhead, the wind through the rushes growing in the sand dunes. And fuck, it feels like _home._

The sentiment is only mildly disturbed by the thumping of footfalls from the floor above, as Glimmer scurries to explore the rest of the house. Bow must have followed his girlfriend upstairs, Adora realises, because he’s no longer in the living room where he’d been politely waiting while she’d dawdled trying to get the folding doors to open. 

It’s kinda sad that she’s known both of them since first-year but has never considered bringing them here until today. But then, inviting someone into your little piece of paradise could be alarmingly intimate, and she wasn’t even sure if she’d been ready to walk through that doorway _herself._

There are fewer steps down to the beach now, she notices. It’s not just that she’s grown taller in comparison, which she has, but that’s unrelated because she’s sure there used to be seven, not five - the wind must have buried the rest in sand.

She sits. Her old, worn converse resting on the step below as her eyes wander over the timber handrailing at her side. And the letters that are carved into the beam there, still. 

_A &C _

She frowns lightly. Letting the pads of her fingertips trace over the indelicate engravings, surprised by the ache it instils in her chest. _Hadn’t she written the eulogy to that friendship years ago?_ Apparently not. 

It’s little, the sting, but it’s still there, clinging to her. But she’d be lying to say that the emotion wasn’t also fond, inquisitive even, maybe a little bit hopeful -

“I know you said this place had an ocean view,” Glimmer’s voice interrupts from over Adora’s shoulder, moving toward her over the hardwood of the living room floor. “But this is, quite frankly, fucking ridiculous, Adora. I thought houses like these only existed in movies!” Her friend steps through the gaping opening in the wall where the glass panels of the sliding door had been minutes before, claiming a deck chair before letting out a low, impressed, whistle in response to the view of the ocean. 

“I know,” Adora says, smirking a little. “It’s pretty nice, right?” 

_Nice_ wasn’t doing it justice, she knows, but the feeling that rushed within her as she’d stepped through the front entrance is not something that can be claimed by words. It’s memories - old ones. So long ago that the images are sunbleached and worn around the edges now. It's waking up in a twin bed to the noise of the beach and a room basked in gold; it’s her bare feet in the sand as waves washed softly around her ankles; it’s the sound of her brother’s laughter, boyish and happy, as they raced along the beach; it’s long, warm days that left her skin pink and salty, left her eyes drooping. 

It’s pure, unadulterated nostalgia seeping straight into her bloodstream. And they’re only the memories that are _safe_ to touch. 

“How many summers did you say you’d spent here growing up?” Bow asks, his voice, unexpected, from the balcony overhead, his forearms leaning against the railing. The distraction pulls Adora’s mind away before it can start to uselessly dig up cemeteries.

Glimmer grins up at him, one hand shielding her eyes from the sun as she does so.

Adora smiles, her gaze out on the ocean. “All of them.” 

* * *

It’s a soft memory, the first. She’s six, maybe seven, and Catra’s only a little bit younger. Adam’s not there, and she can’t recall why, only that it might be the first time she doesn’t mind.

It’s early August, they’re at Catra’s house, or rather, they’re in the garden, laying on the grass because there’s actually _grass_ here. Razz had tried to explain once about salt and the earth, and being too close to the sea for anything other than that prickly stuff to grow. But Catra’s house is further inland than her grandparent’s, and the greenery is soft against her belly where her t-shirt has ridden up a bit.

They’re watching a ladybug. Catra has a magnifying glass up against her eye, her one blue iris looking larger than it should through the lens. 

_She has such pretty eyes_ , Adora thinks airily.

“It’s five,” Catra tells her, confident, after counting the dots on its back as it climbs a blade of grass. 

“Grandpa says that’s not how it works, actually,” Adora tells her, not boastfully. But of course, her grandpa’s right because grandpa knows everything. 

“Shut up,” Catra replies, but it’s in that tone of voice that lets Adora know she’s only being playful. 

It gets hazy then, they stay there talking for ages but Adora doesn’t remember about what, only that she hoped bedtime was still a long way away. 

Catra’s mom calls them in to eat eventually. By the time Razz arrives to bring her home, there’s pencils and doodles flooding the kitchen table. 

It would take Adora a few more years to understand why Catra looked nothing like Cyra, or even her older brother, Rogelio. Adoption wasn’t even a word in her vocabulary yet, and Catra had only ever called her mom. So that’s who she was. 

Adora likes Cyra; she’s nice, her eyes crinkle in the corner when she smiles, and her clothes always smell like warm cookies and those purple flowers Ma Razz has managed to grow in her front garden. 

Adora thinks Catra smells nice too, but that’s weird so she’s not going to mention it. 

And while she loves her grandparents, it’s nice to have a mom around while her own is too busy working back home. 

Adora wonders if Catra has other friends, people she knows from school - she’s too cool not to, Adora thinks. 

Adora won’t say it, but when she goes back _home_ , home, she’ll only have her twin. And she’s starting to think he doesn’t actually count.

* * *

A scrapbook of memories and this is the one that sits on the very first page, but she knows she knew Catra long before that too, and they’d fallen together again every summer like the rest of the year didn't even exist.

It was a mystery to Adora, still, as to why everything had so violently torn apart that last July. She’d been expecting a little anger, resentment maybe, but she hadn’t prepared herself for four years of cold, absent silence. 

She accepts it was her fault. 

She wishes she knew why.

* * *

“So,” Glimmer asks later, the three of them sat under the pergola and the melody of crickets, sinking back into the chair she’s sharing with Bow. “What exactly are your plans with the old place?” She gestures toward the house, as uncertainty coils in Adora’s abdomen.

“God, I don’t even know,” She shrugs lamely, accepting the glass of shitty rose they’d picked up from the store earlier as Bow passes it to her. “When I heard it’d been left to me I thought it was a joke, honestly. I mean, sure grandma, skip a generation, why not. And a fraction of it I could understand, but the whole house?” 

She sighs. It might be a touch dramatic. 

_Yippe, twenty-three and she was suddenly, unexpectedly, a homeowner._ _I mean, yeah, that’s actually pretty cool. But jeez, the stress._

“Adam wasn’t mad?” Bow askes, unbothered by the lack of space in their current seating arrangement. 

Adora wishes she were a beta sometimes, everything always seems… so much _simpler_ for them than any relationship she’s ever attempted. Her grandparents were betas, her parents are too, as is Adam and every relationship he’s ever been in. 

And all of them, in a word; uncomplicated. 

The only omega she’s ever know had been Cyra, and as far as Adora’s aware, she’d been alone for years. 

It’s unfair, and it’s almost worse because it’s not lost on Adora that she has no real-life role models. 

“Nah,” Adora replies eventually, sipping her glass. “He got the boat. And he knows I loved this place the most.”

Glimmer stutters on her drink. “A boat?”

“Well, it’s kinda more of a yacht, honestly.” Adora shrugs.

“Jeez, you been holding out on us, Adora?” Glimmer jokes harmlessly. “You secretly a rich kid?” 

It’s weightless considering out of the three of them, Adora’s pretty sure Glimmer is the only one who could be described as rich. “To be fair, they’re both pretty old and run down. The boat wasn’t even functional last time I heard anything about it. But he’s probably gonna sell it anyway, he never was that great at sailing.” 

“Is that your plan too?” Bow offers. “Sell this place and move back home?”

Adora hums noncommittally, tapping her nail against the edge of her glass. Either way, she’s sitting on a substantial nest egg now. It’s pretty unnerving, the responsibility of it. But god, would she even have the heart to hand this place over to a complete stranger when the kitchen doorframe is still etched with marks tracking the yearly heights of her and Adam and Cat- 

_Ouch. Okay, that still hurts._

“And anyway, don’t be so harsh to your new house,” Glimmer protests, consolingly patting the woodwork within arms reach. “It’s not run down, its-” She contemplates for a moment, before suggesting. “Shabby chic... maybe?” 

“Glimmer, one of the windows is literally falling off its hinges” 

“So it needs a bit of work,” She shrugs, taking a dive into her own glass. “You can’t convince me you’re willing to give up all this.” She gestures to the beach and the way the sunset is beginning to make the ocean blush across the horizon. _And shit, yeah, maybe she has a point._

“Glimmer,” Bow says beside her. “Babe. Please stop trying to make our friend permanently relocated halfway across the country.” 

“I’m just - okay, fair point,” Glimmer downs the last of her wine, wincing at the taste. “But whatever, right? This trip was supposed to be to destress after finals, so maybe we leave all the life-altering decisions for later and we just enjoy ourselves for a bit. Yeah?” 

“I can drink to that,” Adora sighs, hoping the knot in the pit of her stomach will loosen. 

* * *

Adora’s nine when her grandpa dies. 

Catra finds her alone amongst the sand dunes, her knees tucked up against her body as she watches the first of the summer storms set in. The waves are loud and the horizon is an angry grey. But they have time for now. 

Catra sits beside her, silent. Politely ignoring the sound of Adora sniffing heavily every so often. The funeral was months ago, she’d understood, she’d excepted, but now she’s _here,_ and the house is too quiet and Ma Razz is too distant and Adam won’t even leave his room.

“I’m sorry,” Is all Catra says, but there’s a level of empathy in her tone and Adora has only recently learned its history.

Adora reaches out for her hand eventually, and a conch shell tumbles out from Catra’s palm onto the sand. She blinks at it a few times like she’d forgotten it was there. 

“It’s for you,” Catra says, reaching for it again with the hand Adora’s not fastened onto, before placing it atop Adora’s knee. 

Adora moves it to her pocket after staring wordlessly for a few minutes, all while Catra’s holding her hand like she’s happy for her own knuckles to go white. 

They don’t move until the rain starts to fall. It’s heavy and cold when it does, and by the time they’d make it back to Ma Razz’s house their clothes are dripping straight onto the floor, but there’s grins on both their faces. 

An hour later they’re bathed and warm in their pj’s but Adora doesn’t have the sense to wonder where Catra’s appeared from, and only later rationalises that Razz must have called Cyra at some point that evening to bring them over. They spend more time sleeping in each other’s houses than their own now, probably. 

Adam appears from his room after a while, his eyes as red as her’s had been earlier. And Adora’s not jealous, she’s not, when Catra takes him by the hand, leading him to join them on the couch before she begins to explain the rules of a new card game she’s started collecting. 

But eventually, Adam’s eyes don’t look so watery, and Adora’s forgotten she was ever lonely at all. 

* * *

Adora’s allowing herself a week to decide. Which, arguably, might not be long enough to deliberate the future of her inheritance, but decisions have never been her forte so she hopes the deadline will help. Besides, Glimmer and Bow will be leaving by then for the cushy work placement’s they’re supposed to be starting, and if she’s left here alone for too long she might have a genuine breakdown. 

It’s a dilemma. Because she can’t actually _live_ here; its too impractical, too far away from any work she’d been looking for, too far away from her family, too far away from home. Though, after four years of college, she’s not sure where that is anymore. As long as she’s near her friends, near her brother, she doesn’t think she’ll mind. But she also can’t just leave the house sitting empty like a ghost on the beach - renting it out is, unfortunately, not an option, because her grandma cared little about keeping the building up to regulation standards. A goddamn shame considering the price of rentals around here. 

But, _but_ , selling might as well mean ripping out a piece of her soul. 

So yeah, she’s kinda stuck.

She’s trying not to think about it.

* * *

The week’s nearing its end and she hasn’t seen Catra yet. She doesn’t know if that’s down to luck or not because technically, she’s not even sure if Catra still lives here. 

She avoids the house anyway, avoids the whole neighbourhood even, but that’s… it’s - whatever. She doesn’t need more mess. 

And it’s been nice so far, they spend most of the daylight on the beach, and Glimmer packed this stupidly-large inflatable unicorn that actually has _cupholders_ , so they might get a little too drunk and sunburnt. But mostly they’re, justifiably, super, super lazy. 

And she forgets, for a while, about all of it. 

And then Bow returns from the grocery store one morning, and Adora really wishes he had better taste in alcohol, but he also has news and it’s not something she wants to be hearing right now.

“So apparently there’s this big party happening tomorrow a few houses over, and the dude behind the counter seemed to recognise your name when I mentioned we were staying here,” He indicates toward Adora. “And he said we should totally all come along.” 

“Can we please not,” Adora mumbles from where she’s sat at the kitchen counter stuffing her face with cinnamon toast. It’s not her proudest moment.

“Oh, come on!” Glimmer jabs her in the shoulder, she might have been actually trying, Adora doesn’t know, but she doesn’t really feel much either way. “We’re gonna be gone in two days, maybe it would be good for you to meet some people to keep you company?” 

Adora just groans, letting her face fall into her hands. 

“Adora, sweetheart,” Bow says softly, yet somehow sternly all at once. “I know you’re not thrilled about us leaving, but this is gonna be good for you - and I really think-”

“Fine,” She interrupts, aware Bow’s logic often wins in the end and she’s in no mood to debate right now. Besides, she reasons, the fact she’s seen no sign of Catra yet is evidence enough that she’s probably no longer living nearby. It should be safe. And her friends have a valid point. She really doesn’t want to be down here with her phone screen as the only option for a faux face to face conversation.

“Yay!” Bow says, giving a showcase of jazz hands before Adora can backtrack herself. She grumbles into her breakfast instead.

* * *

Adora’s ten, it’s early July and she’s laying down over one of the wicker frame sofas out on the deck around the back of the house, her knees dangling over the armrests as she stares up at the sky. Catra, like a mirror image, her legs hooked over the opposite armrest, their heads close beside one another and their hair spilling lazily over the cushions underneath them. 

School this year had been… interesting _._ Adora’s starting to learn things about what it means when the other kids in her class giggle about crushes. She’s starting to learn about dynamics, what they are - how they affect your strengths and what you should pursue with your life. 

Her mother had rolled her eyes after Adora recounted one particular lesson, sat her and her brother down before explaining, at length, that they could be whatever they wanted to be, and shouldn’t let themselves be defined by any labels the world wants to throw at them.

But Adora’s unsure. Mrs Weaver had been pretty adamant. 

Adora wonders if Catra knows these things too, wonders if Catra gets as clammy at the thought of bringing it up as she does. But she _wants_ to talk about it, wants to understand more - but everyone’s still being frustratingly vague. 

Eventually, Adora’s not even the one that brings it up.

“If you could choose,” Catra asks, which is a shock because Adora was half-convinced her friend had fallen asleep. “What would you want to be?” 

Adora’s head rolls toward her, finding her friend’s eyes still shut. 

Sensing the hesitation, Catra elaborates. “Your dynamic, I mean.” 

“Oh.” Adora thinks her cheeks might be turning red, so it’s convenient Catra’s not looking right now. She takes a moment before answering, it’s not something she’s contemplated until now, but her reply isn’t hard to find. “An omega.”

Catra scrunches her nose like that’s the wrong answer, and then her eyes blink open, turning her face toward Adora. “Why?” The reply is so genuinely stunned Adora feels like she’s chosen the wrong tick box on a test. And she also suddenly feels far, far too close because she can count every single one of the freckles scattered like constellations over Catra's face.

“They look after people, right?” She shrugs, though the reasoning feels true enough to her, turning her attention toward the sky again before her heart starts beating too fast in her chest. “I think I’d like to be a nurse or something. So that I can help people.”

Catra hums like she’s considering it, before she inputs. “But if you were an alpha - or even a beta, you could be a doctor and then you’d be helping people even more.” 

“Maybe,” Adora mumbles, aware she's been out puzzled. "What about you then?"

"An alpha," Catra says it like it's the most obvious conclusion in the world. And Adora’s suddenly glad they're both looking back at the clouds. “But that’s not gonna work if you’re gonna be an omega.”

Adora’s frown causes a wrinkle in her forehead. “Why not?” 

“Because we’d have to stop being friends.” 

Adora pushes up on her forearms, suddenly alert, and a little annoyed. “What are you talking about, why would we have to stop being friends?”

“Because that’s just how it works, people are only friends within their own dynamic or with betas. Think about it, have you ever seen an alpha and omega being friends in real life, or even on tv?”

Adora’s frown deepens, thinking, before she answers dejectedly. “No.”

Catra pats her shoulder, but it’s kinda awkward since she’s upside down. “It’s okay, I’ll be a beta and then we can be friends forever.” 

_Forever._ Adora settles back down, content with that. They’ll be old before they have to worry about it anyway, eighteen is half a lifetime away yet. “Okay.” 

* * *

The party is noisy and crowded and not at all hard to find. Her whole body’s tense the moment they step through the door, but her friends seem unsuspecting of the true reason why.

She recognises a few faces from her childhood, taller and less youthful than they’d once been. Some smile warmly when they notice her, offer a subtle wave, it helps her unwind a bit. Almost everyone here are the children of those who own vacation homes nearby, fewer that live here permanently. But she’s also surrounded by complete strangers. And weirdly, its the _lack_ of familiarity more than anything that helps her relax. 

Glimmer’s nudging at her side and reminding her to go and mingle but it’s a miracle she’s even here at all, honestly, and Glimmer seems to concede to that when she realises Adora’s not going anywhere without them. 

It’s not hard for Adora to get attention. It never really had been even before she presented - but it’s worse now and she finds herself unsure what to do with it. Weighed down by expectations and assumptions, and _fuck off, quite frankly._ And then she mishandles simple conversations and people realise she’s not as charming as they first thought. 

She’s heading toward the snack table when Bow catches her arm and tugs her toward where people seem to be dancing. There’s a song playing but she can’t make it out and it’s far too bassy. She’s getting a headache. 

She mouths a ‘please don’t make me do this’ to Bow but it’s useless because Glimmer’s suddenly behind her and pushing her forward like she’s some sort of mule they can’t get to move. So, she relents. And after five minutes she’s snorting at Bow’s attempts to dance, and thinks she might have finally, actually, deceived herself into having fun. 

The song stops. The pause in the music a little too long and from the other side of the room, Adora hears a laugh that has her head snapping around and her eyes going wide. 

_Oh no._

It’s like the crowd parts. And maybe its people leaving the makeshift dancefloor now the song’s stopped, but too suddenly there’s no longer a safe barricade of people between them.

Catra’s here.

Catra’s here.

 _Catra’s here._ And four years stretch out like a chasm.

She’s sat on a couch, oblivious, reclining against the torso of a platinum-haired, tank of a woman. An alpha, Adora recognises. Watching as Catra’s head falls back against the woman’s shoulder as she laughs brightly again, looking for too comfortable being there.

Catra’s happy, Adora acknowledges - aware that something in her chest is trying to strangle her heart and that she’s powerless to stop it. Following Catra’s line of sight, she discovers another woman sat with them, stark-purple hair tied back in pigtails, talking animatedly and possibly a little too loud, but Adora can still barely make it out.

And Catra’s smiling and her eyes are shining, and her hairs shorter now but it’s still gorgeous anyway. Adora’s certain Glimmer and Bow have noticed her freeze but she’s a heartbeat away from bolting out the door when Catra’s eyes suddenly flicker toward her.

A beat passes like that.

The next song starts, and Catra just looks stunned for an agonisingly slow second, and then her face pales as bloodless as Adora’s sure her’s has gone too.

Adora watches her blink, and it’s _devastating_ because it almost looks like Catra’s about to cry, which, of all of them, is the _last_ response she’s ever envisioned in the playthroughs that run through her mind, but Adora’s certain they’re already welling up in her own eyes too. 

Catra stands.

But Adora’s already grabbed her friends and can’t pull them toward the door fast enough.


	2. Chapter 2

This memory is red. Adora’s twelve, Catra’s taller by a few inches now, which is fine, she doesn’t mind, but Adam got a Gameboy for his birthday this year and Adora’s only just decided she hates it.

It plays through her head once, twice, to grab one of the mallets from Grandpa’s old tool shed and just… smash it. Until it’s nothing but plastic pieces and decapitated buttons. Maybe hurl it into the ocean afterwards. 

But she can’t do that, because Catra would be mad. Adam would be too, obviously, but she cares less about that for some reason. 

Adora doesn’t understand what’s so great about the damn thing, they’ve been here a weak already and Catra’s spent more time with Adam huddled around that stupid console than she has with Adora. 

She’s not angry. She’s- 

Adora doesn’t know, actually. 

She’s sat at the very edge of the water, legs crossed underneath her as passive waves catch over the laces of her shoes. They’re getting damp. She can feel it through to her toes but that’s not what’s got her attention. Her whole periphery’s been taken over by an unfamiliar and visceral burning from deep within her ribcage. She wants to use one of those bad words Catra says sometimes, she wants- 

Something thumps her in the back of the head. It doesn’t hurt, and when her hand moves to investigate, confused, she realises it must’ve been a wet clump of sand. 

“Where’d you go?” Catra asks as she approaches. Which seems like a stupid question to Adora because Catra’s _just_ found her, but she recognises there’s a ‘why’ behind it too. 

Wordlessly, and a little bit guiltily, Adora pushes onto her feet, dusting the sand off her shorts.

“Adam’s just found a shiny one,” Catra tells her, close now. “You have to come see!” She sounds so delighted, but it’s not a matchstick it lights in Adora, it’s a firecracker - and its bright, hot fury. 

Adora’s arms are suddenly shoving her away. 

Catra stumbles backwards, hitting the ground with an ‘oof’ and Adora instantly, reactively, feels awful. _Why did I do that?_

“I’m sor-”

But then Catra’s up and barreling into her and they’re fumbling backwards before a wave catches around Adora’s ankle.

The water’s cold against her back when they fall, soaking straight through her clothes; it’s the very start of the season and the sun’s not old enough to have warmed the ocean yet. But she feels hot anyway. 

It’s not that thing that’s _not_ anger, its-

Catra’s perched over her lap, her hands pinning into Adora’s shoulders where they’d attempted to soften her own fall. 

The eyes looking down at her are glaring. “Why are you being so grumpy?” 

“Am not!” Adora pouts. Catra doesn’t dignify that with a response, which - fair, but Adora doesn’t really have a steady answer to give. “Why don’t you go back inside and play with Adam some more.” She snaps instead, and it makes even her own eyes go wide. 

Adora’s proud that she’s not interested in boys yet, she’s too mature for that - and no, she isn’t aware of the contradiction to be found there, that’s still a while away. But _god_ , she’d hoped for more time before Catra started behaving like most of the other girls at school. 

“What...?” Catra frowns, stupified. Her expression slowly morphing as she reads what might as well be written all over Adora’s face in black sharpie. “I’m not-” Catra doesn’t stutter, she’s too sure of herself for that, Adora thinks. “Because I don’t want to do that anymore.”

“Why?”

Catra sits upright, folding her arms. “Because you left so it’s not fun now.” 

_Oh._

The firecracker’s burned out like it’s been doused in water, but she feels as though there’s still pink in her cheeks. “Get off me, you weirdo.” 

Catra does, offering to help Adora back onto her feet. Then, and Adora’s very aware of this, she’s being tugged back toward the house because Catra’s still not let go of her hand. “You better get changed though because my mom agreed that you could stay at ours tonight and I don’t want you bringing half the ocean back to my house.” 

Adora’s smile might be a little bit dopey. But it’s alright so long as Catra can’t see.

* * *

The alarm on Adora’s phone wakes her, which is useless considering she, endlessly and eternally, has nowhere she needs to be. 

Morning sun floods the room with bright light and it's almost dazzling while she blinks at the ceiling for an unsound amount of time. 

Glimmer and Bow left a few days ago. She swears the house echoes and creaks more now that she’s the only one here, but any conclusion about what to do with it feels like an aggrieved speck on the horizon that keeps moving further and further away. 

So, Adora’s still stewing. But she’s also - resolutely - not even stepping foot outside the house because she’s terrified of seeing Catra’s face again. 

_Her life is here. I’m the one invading. I just need to sort this all out and then I can leave and things can go back to the way they were._

Which, truthfully, had been shit. But at least it had been familiar. 

She feels stuck in a dark labyrinth, branches keep snagging on her clothes and she’s certain she’d passed that junction five times but- 

There’s something that doesn’t make sense. 

Because that day in the driveway four years ago, it had been Catra who yelled until her throat was sore; Catra who refused to answer the door every time Adora knocked; Catra who’d ignored her texts and her voicemails and her letters.

But, at the party, it was Adora who’d run away. And Catra who’d taken that step forward. 

It’s irrelevant, she decides. Because either way, Catra’s not come looking for her here, and it’s not like Adora would be hard to find if she did. 

Whatever. She shouldn’t be letting this take up so much of her headspace.

* * *

Sex ed. Adora’s thirteen and that’s what the teachers are officially calling it now. No longer innocent and obscure ‘personal development classes’ or whatever the hell that was supposed to be covering up for. 

So there’s puberty, and she thought she’d been getting to grips with _that_ , but now there’s… more. And she hadn’t realised how drastic it could be. 

There are betas, right; the subset for normal, the checkbox the vast majority of the human race select on their medical forms after they present somewhen around their eighteenth birthday. And then there’s alphas and omegas. She knows this already, she’s existed in the world long enough. Most alphas are male, and most omegas are female - which makes sense biologically, but sometimes the _reverse_ happens. But the actual population counts for both dynamics are pretty low regardless. She knows this.

But here’s what’s new. Last Year, Mrs Weaver tiptoed around the topic, and Adora’s cognitive functioning had already collapsed to the point where she hadn’t even considered, really, how on earth female alphas or male omegas manage to have romantic relationships - or, more confusingly, _kids._ Aside from seeking out each other, which seemed arduous, but made sense.

Adora likes Mrs Mara. Likes that she goes by her first name rather than her second, likes that she’s not hard-lined and stern like Weaver had been, likes that she’s gentle but honest. And for a few days, Adora had even assumed her new teacher must have been an omega. 

She’s a beta, actually, but that’s not the important part. Because one day Mrs Mara tells them, as casually as breathing, that she has a _wife._

It’s, uh…

It’s illuminating.

* * *

That evening, while deeply concerned over her diminishing food supplies, Adora hears thumping against the front door.

Her whole body recoils at the sound, and it feels like her heart’s just descended a mile down into the earth below her feet. She wants to go hide in a wardrobe, frankly. But then there’s a voice calling her name and that’s-

That’s Adam.

“What are you doing here?” She asks, beaming as she swings the front door open. 

“Sup,” He grins back that wonky smile of his, it looks like he hasn’t bothered to brush his hair today, she notices. “I heard you got yourself some sweet digs, I wanted to come check them out. Also,” His voice turns a hue of serious then. “It’s really sweet that your friends are so concerned about you, but I was starting to get genuinely worried, so I thought you could do with someone around to keep your head on straight.” 

After a second, his eyes sparkle with mischief like he’s caught onto the irony of that statement, but then Adora’s interrupting with a hopeful, “You’re staying?” 

“Oh, no.” He shakes his head. “Shit, sorry to get your hopes up, I have work to get back to, but I’ve brought him!” He says, indicating dramatically to the space beside his ankle. 

There’s… well, there’s nothing there. Adam seems to realise this too. 

“Oh, hang on,” He sighs, before letting out a long and low whistle with his fingers in his mouth. 

There’s a flash of black, white and tan suddenly darting toward them from whatever bush he’d scampered off to, and in a blink, there’s a dog jumping up at her. Which is _fun,_ considering she’s wearing shorts, and bare skin and claws and _ow_. Also, he definitely shouldn’t be doing that. 

She shoves the collie gently back onto the ground and grins as his whole body follows the beat of his tail with that dorky wiggle he does when he’s super excited. She kneels, smiling as she runs her hands through his ears. “Hi, buddy,”

“Ta da!” Adam says. “I brought Swifty!” _Thanks for that academic observation, Adam._ “Anyway, can I come in and shoot up on coffee because I’ve been driving for nearly nine hours with that lunatic in the backseat.”

“Right, of course.”

* * *

“So…” Adam beings a while later, nursing an iced coffee while sitting in the living room on a couch that Adora’s sure is older than either of them. The sun’s too hot outside right now, and she’d found yesterday that the mechanism in the patio umbrella is broken. _Peachy, another thing to fix._ “What exactly happened at that party? I talked to Bow but the details he had were pretty scarce.” 

The mug is cold in Adora’s hands, Swifty’s sat beside her with his head on her lap. It’s nice. Grounding. “I, uh -” She takes a sip. “I might have bumped into Catra.”

“Oh shit.” His eyes go wide, his tone empathetic when he asks, “How’d that go?”

“It didn’t, not really, I pretty much legged it out of there as fast as I could.” 

“Right, I guess that makes sense.” He says, sadness tainting his expression like the first dip of a mucky paintbrush into clean, clear water. It’s not what she needs right now. He seems to sense that, turning upbeat again with enviable ease. “So. What’re your plans with Grandma’s house?” 

Adora frowns. 

“What?” He smirks. “Haven’t sketched out a diagram for the rest of your life yet? How unlike you.” 

She knows he’s only teasing. “It’s a lot, okay!” 

“I get it. I get it.” He nods, though she can sense an idea brewing in his head. “Look, I’ve already been through this, and there’s a trick Teela taught me to help in making guilt-free decisions and I think it might help you too.”

“Okay...?” 

“Right, so, close your eyes.” She does, and he continues. “Imagine yourself - it’s ten years in the future, you’re happy, life’s perfect, you’ve got everything you’ve ever wanted. You see it?” 

It’s fuzzy, but she does. “Yeah,”

“Good. Simple question then,” He pauses, and it sounds like he’s smiling. “Is this house a part of that future?” 

It’s not even hard to find. 

_Yes._

Yes, actually. Because, should they ever exist, she can’t bear the thought of neither of them being able to bring their own kids here.

She must have given her answer out loud; he’s smiling at her like the sunrise when her eyes flutter open. 

“Awesome!” He takes another swing of caffeine. “So now what?”

“Shit, Adam, is that all you’ve got? How’s that actually supposed to help logistically? There’s like a million things that need fixing or replacing, and I’m jobless, and out here _all_ on my own and how on earth am I supposed to do any of it?”

“Well, I guess it’s fortunate for you that I, only just recently, saw a man about a horse,” He starts playfully. “Or rather, a boat. But. I’ve come across a notably large sum of money with no effing clue what to do with it, and I might be of a mind to invest in a nice, cozy property somewhere if you happen to know of any around.” 

She blinks, bewildered. “I’m not gonna ask you to do that.”

“Adora. You’re not asking. I am.” He takes a deep breath, and she can tell from his change in demeanour that he’s not teasing anymore. “This place is important to me too, and while I fully agree with Grandma’s decision and I think she knew exactly what she was doing in leaving this place to you, if you sell up, I very well might train Swifty to murder you in your sleep.”

“Jeez, Adam,” She laughs, feeling lighter now. “You wanna tell me how you really feel?”

“Hmmm,” He downs the last of his coffee, and then stands. “I don’t think you're ready for that yet.”

“Wait, you’re leaving?” It’s almost pitiful since he’s not even exited the living room yet and she’s already mourning the company. 

“Yeah, like I said, I actually have work to get back for, and uh,” He glances down at the watch on his wrist. “Only a few hours of daylight left, so I’d better get going.”

Her shoulders slump. “Oh,”

“But one last thing before I do,” He says, and that hint of devilry is back again. “Try to get the rest of that image in focus, yeah? Maybe even work on building some of those other parts.” He shrugs. “You never know.” 

* * *

That summer is hot. They’re in the shade of the house, lounging underneath the fan that hangs from the ceiling. Adora’s watching the blades and seeing how long it will take her to get dizzy.

Catra’s drawing. She does that a lot now, her mom got her a sketchbook for Christmas and when Adora hears this, it’s weird for a moment to picture Catra existing outside of summer. 

Weird to imagine this whole place existing outside of summer, actually.

Rogelio is over too today, him and Adam disappeared upstairs after lunch, and now they’re all lazing around the house like a pride of lions from one of those nature documentaries Adora watched with her mom a few months ago.

Her head rolls languidly towards Catra. Her friend’s lying on her front over the tapestry rug, her legs bent at the knees and swaying occasionally in the air, her tongue poking out a little as she creates pretty things on paper out of grey, graphite lines. Adora’s a bit jealous of them, to be honest.

Adora hasn’t mentioned Mrs Mara. She’s not sure she’s brave enough too, what if Catra finds it weird? What if Catra finds _her_ weird?

She thinks she’s found a way to bring it up though. 

“Hey, Catra?” Adora feels like her heart’s about to beat out of her throat, but she’s doing her best to cover it up. Her friend hums absently in response. “Would you still choose to be an alpha, if you could?”

Catra taps the end of her pencil against the page she’s working on before replying with a simple, “Yeah.” 

And Adora gets it, she does. Because alphas always seem to have the most interesting jobs, the most interesting friends, the most interesting everything. It’s enviable, from a perspective. “But what if you wanted to have a family?” 

Catra grimances, but she’s also smiling like she’s found the concept genuinely entertaining. “You asking if I’m gonna have kids ‘dora? Ew. No, that’s not happening.”

Adora frowns at that. “Why not?”

“Because kids are gross.”

“You were a kid once!” Adora protests. She’d laugh at that statement a few years later.

Catra rolls her eyes, but the complete and utter lack of heat behind the expression makes it painless. “Yeah, and I bet I was gross too.” 

Catra returns to her drawing. And Adora goes back to glaring at the ceiling because she’s still no closer to finding what she’s looking for. 

It’s butterflies; she knows what those feel like now, and they’d happened every time in class when Mrs Mara brought up her wife. Her wife. _Her wife._ Adora wants to try to speak those words out loud, and, inexplicably, she wants to closely watch what her friend’s face does as she says it.

But Adora’s not as brave as she wishes. She hopes she will be someday. 

* * *

Adora’s fixing the house. 

Or, at least, she would be if there weren’t a million tiny problems getting in the way. Namely, she finds that old conch shell in the top drawer of the dresser in the bedroom she’d used as a kid. 

Adora stares at it for an hour. 

She’ll work on a different room, she decides. 

Swifty helps get her out the house; they run every morning barefoot along the sand to the end of the peninsula before the rest of the universe is even awake. Then, with her lungs burning like she’s breathed in hot ash, they walk back, and Adora simmers over her plans for the day.

Three weeks pass like that. 

It’s monochrome. It’s hot. And she’s starting to understand why Ma Razz began talking to herself so much after years of living here alone. 

* * *

Adora ties Swifty’s leash to a post outside and the bell chimes as she steps into the grocery store. She managed a whole eight hours on an empty stomach before her first trip here. It doesn’t strangle her chest so much each time she enters the front door now, but, like something pitiful, she’s still scanning each and every aisle for a familiar face before walking down.

She shifts her sunglasses to the top of her head when she reaches the counter, smiling politely, awkwardly, at the guy working there as he starts to scan her items. 

“You’re Adora Gray right?” He says, and it’s pretty instant that she recognises he’s an alpha. “Razz’s granddaughter?”

“Yep.” She prays the conversation won’t last long. _Whoever said alphas were charismatic anyway?_

“Man, I’m sorry about what happened, that really sucks,” The last of her items beep through and he announces her total. He’s a little older, she thinks, and evidently a long-time local based on how forward he’s being in knowing her family history. “How’s that old house though, I’m guessing it’s yours now?” 

“Yeah, it’s, uh...” _It should have been in hospice care along with Grandma._ She doesn’t say that though, it’s probably rude. “It’s a piece of work, honestly. I’m realising how little of it is actually a one-person job, you know?”

“Oh, hey,” His eyes light up a little, and it reminds her of Adam for a split second. “If its muscle you’re looking for I might be able to hook you up. Most of my friends are alphas, they could be persuaded to lend a weekend or two in return for beers if that’s something that would help?” 

Adora’s reels at that, her stature turning defensive. She can’t figure out an honourable explanation for why he’s offering help - unless she genuinely looks as lonely and pathetic as she feels on the inside. Maybe he’s witnessed her sulking through the store too many times and can’t handle it anymore. But she groans internally then, because if there’s anything worse than hanging out with a bunch of dude-bros, it’s hanging out with a bunch of _alpha_ dude-bros. “That’s really not necessary-”

Her reaction must register because he backtracks pretty quick. “Of course, that’s cool, that’s fine. But, I mean. Half of them are girls. Women.” He corrects himself. “If that makes you more comfortable. And me and my boyfriend are pretty harmless.” He smiles then; it’s dazzlingly honest.

_Boyfriend._

Baby-Adora would be gawking at him, and that thought is enough to break a smile from where her brain’s been hiding them. “What’s your name?”

“You can call me Blue,” He offers his hand to shake. “And yes, that’s a nickname because my parents were terrible.” 

* * *

So, Adora was wrong. She thinks she might actually like Blue’s friends. 

Octavia, Lonnie and Blue spend all morning helping her shove furniture around so the contractors arriving later this week can actually get at the floorboards, and truthfully, the house ends up looking a lot worse by the end of it - but it’s transitional. A step toward improvement.

They get her talking after only a few minutes, safe topics, and she can’t seem to stop. It’s nice for once to have a conversation and it not be pixelated and two-dimensional. She’s been starving herself, she realises. 

DT, the only beta in their group, she can’t get a pin on. They spend most of the day at the sidelines offering drinks and unconstructive criticism, but, and Adora thinks it’s sweet, they soften a little every time Blue looks their way. 

‘Boyfriend’ she learns, is a completely acceptable term because DT thinks it’s more _spicy_ than ‘partner.’ She doesn’t ask for clarification.

But it’s also interesting because after spending all day with him, Blue’s pheromones are a shade out from what she’d first anticipated. She knows what that means, she’s not going to pry. 

And, _and,_ baby-Adora would be dead by now, because later, she witnesses Lonnie gazing, suspiciously fond, in the direction of Octavia. Realising, and it’s _an education,_ that this place might be way more liberal than she gave it credit for.

And shit, Catra grew up here. 

She tries not to choke on that thought. 

* * *

“So,” DT says later, while they’re all sitting out on the furniture ornamenting the back porch, drinks in hand. Adora stills from where she’s petting Swifty’s head as it rests on her lap. There’s something coiling behind their tone. “What exactly are you hoping to get out of putting so much effort into this place? Strutting around like a bowerbird and hoping you’ll attract someone to settle down with?”

Adora gapes, watching as they swirl the tiny umbrella around the cocktail glass in their hand. The drink must have been pulled from thin air because she knows she didn’t have those supplies. “Excuse me?” 

“Don’t mind DT,” Octavia says. “They’re harmless, if a bit pigheaded sometimes.” 

DT sends an inoffensive sneer in reply. “But in all seriousness, it must be awfully lonely out here for you, Adora,” Their words are like silk. “If you want, I’m sure between the four of us we could point you in the direction of someone warm and welcoming.”

Her face might go bright red. But the other’s don’t notice because they’re all suddenly speaking up like this topic is the most constructive thing they’ve done all day. 

It seems like they must know everyone staying here, local or not, because they’re suddenly throwing random names into the afternoon air that she’s never heard before. “It’s fine, you guys really don’t have to-”

“Maybe Perfuma?” Lonnie suggests energetically.

DT looks Adora once over like they’re scanning the very innards of her soul, before stating, “No, wrong energy I think.”

“Mermista? She’s single.” Blue inputs. Adora wants to bury herself in the sand. 

“Honey, Mermista’s in Uruguay this summer.”

“Right.”

It’s silent for a moment, and Adora thinks she’s stopped suffocating. 

And then Octavia says, like the most cautious suggestion in the world. “What about Catra?”

“Oh, you don’t want to go near _that one,”_ DT warns, taking a sip of their drink. _“_ You might as well stick your whole arm into the centre of a rose bush. After what happened to her m-”

Adora hears it before it registers consciously. There’s a fiery rumbling coming from deep within her chest, it’s tight and it’s angry and- 

Shit. She’s _growling._

She’s never done that before. 

“Well, isn’t that… interesting.” DT grins, wide and wicked. And she doesn’t like it. She _does not_ like it.

* * *

Adora’s mind is left humming that evening. Mostly because of the drinks, she reasons, but also because she actually, for the most part, kinda enjoyed having people around today. Ominous ending aside.

She’s contemplating dinner when the doorbell rings, Swifty perks up immediately at the sound and Adora assumes someone must be back to pick up a forgotten phone or something. So when she opens the front door carelessly, it’s the closest to cardiac arrest she’s ever ventured. 

Catra’s standing there. Literally close enough that Adora could pat her on the top of the head if she reached out to try. Swifty brushes past her leg, she recollects. 

But then Catra says, like she’s nervous, “Hey, Adora.” 

And it ruins her.

It’s not the most dignified of moments, she’d blame it on panic later, but Adora’s suddenly slamming the door shut. 

Which is a problem for a number of reasons, notably, because she’s pretty sure her brother’s dog is now outside. With Catra. 

Catraisstandingoutsidemyhouse.

Adora takes a breath. Another. Then, she reaches out to open the door again.


	3. Chapter 3

Adora's fourteen when she decides some things. And it might happen in the moment, but that’s immaterial. 

Firstly, that waking up beside Catra in a bed that’s arguably too small to fit both their bodies only has to be a _thing_ if she makes it a thing. Secondly, that she’s guiltless, completely, in thinking her best friend’s dishevelled waves of hair, tanned skin and mismatched, sleepy eyes are collectively the most stunning things she’s ever witnessed. Thirdly, that if Catra were only to kiss her, Adora would willingly hand over her whole soul. 

And finally. That even though Catra's never shown any indication of wanting more like Adora does, she's perfectly content to be allowed even _this_. Exactly as they are. For always.

* * *

Hypothetically, Adora wonders, what is one expected to say when standing face to face, for the first time in four years, with the person you’ve been in love with since before you even knew what love was. 

It's tragic, she knows. 

Adora’s hands are trembling as the door creaks open, she pinches them into fists at her side after, but it’s redundant, it turns out, because Catra’s attention is elsewhere now. She’s hissing something in the direction of an unfamiliar car stationed on the opposite side of the road. It’s not quite an argument, a heated discussion maybe. The windows are down; the two women Catra had been sat with at the party are practically falling out of them, and it’s clear from their mannerisms that they’re the only thing preventing Catra from walking away. 

Then they notice, the hushed debate turns to silence, and Catra’s looking right at her again. 

In a second, she’s bone-chillingly sober. 

When Adora finally manages to speak, it a simple and sheepish, “Hi,”

“Hi…” Catra returns.

“I’m sorry. For the door. That was rude.” She’s managing whole sentences, so that’s a start at least.

Catra shakes her head lightly, like it’s fine, like she gets it. Then, she’s glancing down as if suddenly acknowledging the collie that’s sat patient and smitten by her feet. Tail wagging over the flagstones. “You have a dog now?”

Nice, easy question. “He’s Adam’s, technically.” And she’s proud because that’s four whole syllables in a row right there. 

“Oh...” A glance over her should. Adora witnesses the thumbs up of encouragement sent from the car, and it’s weird, it’s _wrong_ , because Catra almost seems shy when her eyes find hers again. “Can I come in? Can we talk?”

“I was just about to walk Swifty, actually.” It’s reactive. It’s not true. But Catra’s standing there looking radiant as always despite her hair being messy and cow-licked like she’s slept weirdly on it, repeatedly. And there’s a scar over her cheekbone now, it’s faint and barely the size of her thumb, but Adora knows it wasn’t there before. 

After a beat, and it almost seems like she’s considering accepting the get-out, Catra says, “I could come with you?” 

And there’s no sane way to say no to that. Adora finds herself nodding, her reply tight in her chest. “Sure,”

* * *

Adora’s fifteen when her mom finally lets her get a phone. 

“You don’t have to brag about it,” The audio carries Catra's voice through the line a second after Adora tells her. 

“I’m not,” She protests weightlessly. It’s not like the landline hasn’t existed, but Adora’s shitty at this at the best of times and it’s not intentional, it's really fucking frustrating, honestly, but she hopes having one in her own pocket will help with that, so; “I’m just excited because it means I can speak to you more often!” 

It lasts all of a month.

Adora tries, she does, but her mother’s thrown her name at so many extracurriculars this year that she’s flailing just to stay above the surface. 

Catra can’t mind the absence too much though, because she’s never the one to call. 

* * *

The evening has turned the sand cold as it shifts under Adora’s bare feet. It’s pleasant, actually, but she hopes Catra doesn’t realise she lacked the sanity to grab any shoes before stumbling out the front door. Adora didn’t bring any house keys either. But it’s okay because she’s certain the sliding door around the back will still be wide open. 

It’s a problem for later.

“Adam’s got a dog then...” Catra says through a slow, awkward exhale. Apparently, they still haven’t moved beyond Switzerland, but then, cautiously, Catra takes a step. “How is he?”

Adora’s shoulders loosen by a thread. “He’s good. Happy. He met someone while studying, they’re living together now, actually. Teela’s pretty awesome.” She gestures toward the collie trotting merrily through the dunes on their right. “I guess you could say Swifty’s kind of their love child.” 

At the sound of his name, he’s suddenly bounding back toward them on legs like a spring lamb. She doesn’t miss the way Catra hesitates, almost flinching, at his redirection. 

Adora frowns. “You don’t like dogs?” 

“I’m more of a cat person, honestly.” 

Adora hears it. She hears it, and it’s deafening, though it’s not the question that matters but that there’s a need to even ask at all. She should know things like this. She should know, but there’s this dissonance between them now and she hates it.

“Look,” Adora begins stiffly. “Did DT... say something? Because I swear to god I didn’t ask them to, and I actually, specifically asked them _not_ to, so-”

“What?” Catra’s forehead is scrunched in that way that suggests she has no idea what Adora’s talking about. And _that_ , that’s familiar. “No? They didn’t- Wait, you know DT?”

“Never mind, forget it, it’s nothing.” Adora shakes her head, and then they’re walking again in silence so stony Adora thinks she could chisel a statue out of it. Eventually, she asks, “Why are you here, Catra?” And if it sounds a little desperate, she’s not trying to deceive anyone.

Catra shrugs. “Because my friends are insufferable and they wouldn’t let me leave this alone.” _Okay, ouch._ But she has the sense at least to recognise that particular frustration wasn’t aimed at her. 

Catra keeps glancing behind them, Adora notices, tracking the movement of her eyes to find a shadow about a quarter-mile back the way they came. And Catra, off all people, is the last she’d expected to tolerate a chaperone like they’re in the middle of the eighteen-hundreds. 

_Is this really how things are now, that her name might as well have been another stranger on DT’s list?_

“What, did they kidnap you or something, drag you over here?” Adora asks, the laugh that follows is pretty pathetic.

“Yeah, kinda.”

Adora realises her own eyes have turned precariously glazy only because Catra does first. The brunette stares, looking genuinely horrified. 

Adora turns a fraction, rubbing the heel of her palm over damp cheeks before she speaks again, and there’s nothing to settle the tremble in her voice when she repeats. “Why are you _here_ , Catra?”

“I- Shit, I didn’t-” Catra stumbles, her eyes wide, apologetic. “Can we sit down, maybe?” 

Adora nods. Moving toward where the slope of a sand dune offers a view of the waves. It’s a much easier thing to be looking at, she thinks, but her arms still fold tightly around her knees like she’s clinging onto a liferaft. 

Catra settles down too, legs crossed underneath her and just far enough away that the distance is noticeable. Swifty fills the gap a moment later, completely oblivious. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Catra says, quieter now. “I _was_ planning on coming here, I was just… procrastinating.” Adora notices the way she’s distracting herself with a little purple flower that’s growing in clumps to their left, pulling one up, twirling it in her fingers. “I think they got fed up. They told me we were going to Applebees.”

Adora laughs at that; it’s less feeble this time. And Catra’s suddenly looking at her with this expression that makes hope bloom in Adora’s chest that something here might be salvageable. 

“Scorp knew something was up the moment I insisted I’d walk myself over here when I was ready, I’m pretty sure it takes, like, an hour to get here, so...” Catra continues, and it feels like she’s just finding something to fill the silence, but Adora’s been grieving the sound of her voice and feels no need to interrupt. 

But then two thoughts come to mind; Catra’s house is only fifteen minutes away on foot, which means she must have moved, and; “You couldn’t have driven yourself over here?” And it seems like such a harmless question.

But the stem of the flower snaps in Catra’s hands. By the reaction on her face, she hadn’t meant to do that. 

Catra shakes her head. “No. I don’t drive.”

Waves echo in the distance, the sky’s turning a different shade like the sun’s starting to set - it’s nice, she thinks, almost pink. 

* * *

Adora’s sixteen when it happens, and while it’s not the first, it is the most alarming. 

Her, Catra and Adam are in the kitchen, the countertops strewn with chopping boards and the red of strawberries they’d handpicked at a farm yesterday. Cyra taught Catra how to make ice cream, and now she’s trying to teach them too. 

The radio’s playing in the background, the song doesn't matter, only that Catra joins in with some of the verses and it's breathtaking. 

She wears her hair different now; half tied up in a bun at the back, it shows off her curls more this way and Adora’s decided she’s enamoured.

Ma Razz appears from her bedroom then, she’d been napping, she does that a lot now. And everything’s fine for a moment because she seemed to be doing good today, but then, and it makes Adora's blood run with ice “Cyra dear, where on earth did you get all that fruit?”

The whole room goes quiet. 

She watches Catra glance toward her awkwardly, a request for help behind her wide eyes. 

Adora turns to Razz with a voice as soft as satin. “Uh, Grandma, you know that’s Catra, right? And we got them yesterday, you were-" This is delicate, she knows, and a little bit heartbreaking. "You were with us.” 

Razz hums with the lightest trace of a frown over her eyebrows, pacing toward and out the back door, mumbling something about needing to water the azaleas. 

"Is she okay?" Catra asks, careful, once the older lady is out of earshot. 

Adora shrugs dolefully. 

"We told mom about it," Adam explains, his face pale as he returns to chopping the leafy head off a strawberry. "I got called Adora right to my face when dad dropped us off, they said not to worry so long as she's not a harm to herself." 

"That seems a bit… inattentive." Catra scrunches her face in a scowl.

Adora's aware. She's become more familiar with the truth that being shipped off to Grandma's every summer is more for their parent's benefit than their own. Not that she minds. Being alone with Adam in an empty house in the city all summer sounds all backwards of delightful. 

Adora sighs, returning to her own batch and the knife by her cutting board. 

And then, as if the universe hasn't already provided enough for Adora to worry about, two things happen in startlingly quick succession. 

Catra yelps. But it's the sound of Adam suddenly thumping onto the floorboards that grabs Adora’s attention first, taking the chopping board with him as it clatters against the hardwood. She stands like a dart, peering over the countertop to find him collapsed on the ground, his face colourless like it goes when he's just seen blood. 

_What the hell?_

"Uh..." She hears Catra say, and when her eyes land on her friend, they're instantly drawn to the hand she's watching with a wide expression as dark-red seeps from a finger and trickles down her wrist.

"Catra!” 

"I think I nicked it," She says dumbly.

Adora’s grabbing her arm, pulling her toward the sink because Catra’s just hopelessly staring like that’s gonna fix the problem, shoving her friend’s hand under the running water and overlooking the reactive yank as the stream breaches the wound.

“That stings!” 

“Good, that means it’s cleaning it out.” Adora fusses. The cut’s not actually that deep now that she can see it. It’s just bleeding like a bitch. 

“Is Adam okay?” Catra shifts as though she’s trying to get a look over the kitchen island.

“Stop moving. Adam’s fine, he’s taking a nap.”

“Adora,” Catra begins, protest in her voice. “It’s really not that bad-”

“Shut up,” She’s moving now, there’s bandaids in the bathroom somewhere. “Stay there for a few minutes.” 

Catra’s obediently exactly where she left her when Adora returns, her hand stuck under the tap, attention on Adam who’s standing now, barely. 

“I’m fine,” He says, bracing against a barstool like he’s a flash of red away from fainting a second time. It’s a valiant effort.

“Adam, go sit on the couch before you hurt yourself again. Catra-” She taps the top of the counter, the positioning will be easier this way. “-sit.” 

“When’d you get so bossy,” But after turning the water off with her good hand, Catra does. Watching attentively as Adora steps up in front of her, prying the layers off the bandaid before she’s taking Catra’s hand, palm up, her fingers working with an almost devout level of care. 

“You should have been more careful,” Adora grumbles, antiseptic replacing the tang of copper in the air.

There’s a pause for a moment, and then, “I’m sorry,” 

It’s incredibly disarming, and when Adora looks up, Catra’s watching her with something brand new and unexplored behind her eyes. Something soft. 

Adora’s breath stills, because for a moment, she thinks Catra’s about to tip forward, and their faces are sofreakingcloserightnow she could count every single one of her friend’s eyelashes if she had a minute longer.

But then, Catra’s slipping off the counter, and for a second, Adora’s hyper-aware of the body brushing past her own. “Thanks for looking after me,” _Was that a bit breathy, did she imagine that?_ It doesn’t matter then, because - and it lasts barely a single, thumping heartbeat, Catra’s pressing a kiss into Adora’s cheek. 

It might be all she can think about for a while. 

* * *

A gust of wind scatters sand across the beach, Adora can feel the sting of it against her skin. 

Catra shivers, and Adora instantly regrets that she’d not brought a jacket.

“I imagine you have questions,” Catra breaks through the silence, her voice gravelly. 

So, so many. _How’s your life now? Do you ever think about me? What could I have done differently to make you want to stay?_

“What happened?” She says instead. 

Catra takes a deep breath, it’s hard to tell if the tremble through her limbs is because of the cold or not. “Are you asking why I yelled, or why I ghosted you?”

 _Is that not basically the same question?_ “Should we start with the first?”

Catra nods like she’s preparing herself. 

* * *

Adam presents first. 

It happens in the middle of school, they're sat in the cafeteria together because, despite her best efforts, Adora has nowhere else to go. And Adam’s never been anything other than understanding, even though he could be eating with his actual friends right now. 

There’s no pattern to these things, she knows, but it’s barely past their seventeenth birthday, which is remarkably early, he might even be the first in their year group - but Adam suddenly has this… aura about him. 

Adora almost suffocates on her cappuccino. 

Adam’s a beta. He’s a beta, and he’s sitting there and he doesn’t even realise anything has happened. 

It’s comforting, in a way, that it takes her kicking him under the table for Adam to even look up from his phone. Glaring at her. 

He rushes to the closest mirror when she tells him. Which is, endearingly, a complete waste of time considering he looks exactly the same, visibly.

And then life goes back to normal so quickly it’s frightening.

Months pass and Adora's starting to get itchy, as though she’s waiting like an anxious war wife for her dynamic to finally show up on her doorstep. 

She’s sat in the dark, studying for finals under headache-inducing lamplight when her phone starts ringing, and she almost drops it when she sees Catra’s name on the screen. 

“Hi. Hi,” Adora sputters. God, they haven’t talked since October, and she can tell it shows in her voice _._ “How are you?” 

"...Adora?" No, that doesn't sound right, it's almost like Catra's been... crying.

"Are you okay?" She hears sniffing through the phone, which is beyond worrying because it's _Catra_ and it's not even discreet. 

"It, uh. It happened."

There's a heavy, empty silence between the buzz of the phone line before Adora carefully asks, "And?"

"I just-" Another pause, and she's certain she picks up a muffled sob but Catra must have moved the phone further away for a second. "I don't want to end up stuck as some asshole's glorified housewife, you know?"

Her heart drops. And then, she's replying so softly it might as well grant her passage straight into Elysium. "Catra. You know that's not what has to happen if it's not something you want."

"I know," Her voice cracks, as Adora wonders, painfully, how puffy and red her best friend's eyes are right now. "Can you just talk to me for a while?"

It's not ever a hard decision to throw her Geometry grade out the window. "Of course." 

* * *

It's early July. Adora's eighteen. She's sat on her Grandma's doorstep while the blood rushing through her veins feels like it's turning to solid lead. 

Adora presented two weeks ago. 

She hasn't told Catra yet. 

There's maybe a few minutes left before her friend arrives. 

Adora buries her face into her hands and groans with enough enthusiasm she thinks it might technically count as a prayer, and then there's the sound of footsteps moving over the flagstones.

They stop. 

Adora glances up slowly, blinking at Catra who's stood like a vision in the driveway, but motionless as marble and holding an expression that's sending daggers straight into Adora's heart like Catra intends for every single one of them.

"Catra?" She tries.

“You're not.” She's seething. “You're not. Please tell me you are not a fucking, goddamn, _alpha_.”

 _I'm still me._ "I didn't have any control over this, you know that."

"Oh my god," Catra lets out a laugh, it's cruel, it's cold, and it's so much worse than the million ways Adora convinced herself this would be okay.

"This isn't my fault. You don't have to be so mean about it." And yeah, maybe Adora's a little pissy too, because she'd actually been wanting to have kids someday - to the full extent of that meaning, and now that's been ripped away from her and people keep expecting her to be _grateful_. "I didn't ask for this. It's not my fault."

“Of course this is your fault,” Two rough hands are slamming into her chest then. And she knows Catra's always been a hot-head, but this feels unreasonable even by her standards. “Because you're such a fucking useless, idiot and it's not fair.” 

It's a pressure, this thing inside her ribcage, and she thinks she's either gonna start screaming or crying in an effort to let it out.

“Why are _you_ so worked up?" Catra sneers at her. "You won the genetic jackpot Adora, everything is gonna be all peachy and perfect for you.”

Catra starts walking away, her head shaking like she's furious, like she's disgusted.

Adora's rushing forward, desperate, as she reaches for Catra's arm. “Please, Catra.” 

Catra yanks it away as though it's agony, as if Adora's just burned her flesh with a branding iron. "Don't fucking touch me."

And then she's gone. 

For four torturous, lonely years, she's gone. 

* * *

It's the one that plays on repeat through her head like a bad episode of a daytime TV show. She's pulled it apart, compartmentalised into sections; things that could have been worse and things that could have been so much better. And analytically, like her professors had always praised her for, Adora arrives at only one conclusion while sobbing alone in a dark dorm room. 

It was her fault. And it was unavoidably going to happen. 

So, when Catra takes a shaky inhale, and says; "For the record, I acknowledge that the day out on the driveway was singularly _the_ most childish thing I have ever done in my life." Adora's suddenly no longer watching the ocean and is, incredibly attentively, staring at the girl sat beside her.

"What?" It comes out as a whisper and Catra must not hear because she just keeps talking.

"I was being stubborn and idiotic and incredibly callous, and I'm so sorry, but I was panicking, honestly, because I had _the_ biggest fucking crush on you, but that's not what I wanted us to be, but there it was, and it fit so perfectly, like it was fucking… destiny, or some shit-"

Catra keeps rambling, which is helpful because Adora’s soul might as well have been flung into the stratosphere and it might take a moment to fall back down again. But, in amongst it all, she's glaringly aware of the implication of the past tense Catra's using right now.

“-so, I lashed out, and it _was_ , it was childish of me, and I shouldn't have done it. And I’m so, so sorry.” 

There’s more, there must be more because this doesn’t make sense yet. Catra’s face is burning red, and Adora’s certain she’s gone all misty-eyed again because when Catra looks at her, it’s with that same broken look she had a few minutes ago. 

“You, uh, why did you-” She’s not even sure what the question is only that she needs to ask, ask, _ask_ for this all to make sense in her head. 

“In my defence,” Catra says, quiet, like she’s completely unarmed herself. “I didn't think it was going to affect you this much.” 

Adora blinks at her. Once. Twice. “Are you serious?” It comes out sharper than she means. “Please tell me that’s just something you convinced yourself and not something you actually believed.”

“I mean,” Catra begins, fragile. “That’s how the world works here, right? People come here to get away from their lives, distract themselves for a little while in the sun and with us, because we’re here and it’s convenient, and then you go back to the real world. And I’m left here alone-” Her voice is rising like it’s too much. “-waiting for eleven months of the year, just existing until you came back to me.”

Her heart’s a ceramic plate that’s just shattered into a million pieces against the rocks, tugged and dragged by the waves until it’s splintered and harsh. “Catra, that was never what this was to me, how can you not know that?” 

They’re both punishingly close to tears, and it’s the raw, wounded, sting that has the admission slipping mindlessly out of her. “Catra. I was in love with you.” It's a half-truth; because she still very much _is_. But she's not sure she has the right to say that anymore. 

“You...?” Catra’s face turns white like marble, breathless. “...what?”

There’s only the sound of seagulls and the beach for a few minutes, Adora feels like she needs to take a year out to process, to step outside and breath for a second, but the sky above her is wide and boundless and it’s still not enough room. And then-

Fuck. _Fuck._ “I think I left the oven on.”

Catra snorts, it’s more than a little bit watery, “Jeez, Adora, if you wanted to get rid of me you didn’t have to be so subtle about it.”

"No." Her voice firm, she shakes her head, pushing onto her feet. "No. I was about to start making dinner when you arrived. I-”

Catra stands too like she's been startled by the sudden movement, and then Adora's reaching instinctively for Catra's hand as she heads back toward the house, Swifty at her heels. 

She stops when she realises, glancing down at their joined, clammy palms, before she asks, "Is this okay?"

Catra looks a bit starstruck, but then she's nodding, slow, before they're moving again. 

Because apparently, if Catra's being honest, there's a part two to this, and Adora needs the storm waters to settle before she ventures out into it - but she also can't bear to let Catra go just yet. 

And Catra’s holding her like she knows.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering if I know what I'm doing with this, the answer is no.

Adora’s eighteen. And July has never been so lonely. 

It’s raining, it feels as though the damp has soaked all the way through to her bone marrow - it’s not cold, not exactly, but there’s a chill in her bloodstream anyway because the summer has always been something sacred. The one time of the year she wasn’t supposed to feel like this. 

She walks to the house. It might be the fourth, maybe even the fifth time this week, and it’s pitiful, she can see that, but she feels like she needs to keep trying until something works. Until something breaks through. And her phone still informs her of no advancement beyond _message sent,_ like, a hundred times in a row _._

Rogelio answers the door. Again. Looking as uncomfortable as all get out to be stuck here in the middle of _this_ , whatever this is. 

Adora’s beginning to think it’s desperation. 

“Can I please talk to her?” But she knows it’s not really what she should be asking, it’s _will she let me._

He glances fleetingly over his shoulder, but the door’s not open enough to reveal anything of the house she’d learned to consider as much a summer home as Grandma’s. Adora shifts on her feet, already expecting the same answer as always.

“Catra’s not- She’s not here right now.” He says. Awkward, like he’s lying - like he can tell she knows, but like he doesn’t want to be mean about it. 

Adora blinks a raindrop away from her eyelashes as it begins to well there. “Okay,” it’s the sound of defeat, a tattered, white flag falling limp in a windless sky. “Okay.” 

“Yikes,” Adam greets her as she stumbles back through the front door a while later, sullen and dripping. It’s not unkind, but he’s _smirking,_ and she wants to glare that expression right off his face. “You look like you just came back from a funeral episode for the entire cast of Looney Toons.”

“Shut up, Adam.” 

“I’m serious,” he grins in that way he does when he’s trying to cheer someone up, a little bit dazzling, a little bit false. “Heartbreak is _not_ a good colour on you, but I have to admit, that shade of rain-drenched is, like, spot on. Did they assign you your own personal raincloud or something?” 

He quietens when he realises he’s hit an exposed nerve. And it might be the tear making its merry way down her cheek, but whatever. 

“Look,” he says, soft, as she rubs it away roughly with the heel of her palm. “It’s Catra, right? The very same Catra that refused to talk to me for a whole week because I didn’t think Rayquaza deserved to spend the rest of its existence in a pokeball. Just… give it some time, it’s not like she’s gonna ignore you forever.”

It turns out he’s wrong.

Adora lives through forever. She spends most of August guarding over Razz, but the whole time it’s like there’s this desolate ringing in her ear because she knows there’s something wrong, something missing, and she’s trying to ignore it, to give Catra the space she needs, but it’s there, and it’s loud. And it’s harrowingly absent. 

“Such a shame about Catra, dear,” Ma Razz announces as Adam’s clearing the dining table after breakfast one day. The old lady stands on precariously shaky legs, her arms bracing over the table, before she's returning to her bedroom. “She was such a sweet girl.” 

“Jeez, Grandma,” Adam whispers, only for Adora to hear, as the plates clink into the sink. “It’s not like she died.” 

Adora’s not an idiot, she can recognise it’s getting worse. And while Razz seems lucid more often than not, the bad days are quiet, unassuming, and _terrifying_. It’s like she wakes up and she’s looking at a vacant shadow in the place of the woman she’d know as her grandmother. She forgets Adora’s name, she forgets Adam’s, or she wanders off out an open door and they find her three hours later, miles away, with her wool-lined slippers full of sand. 

Adora’s voice through the phone to her mother that evening is a mere hue away from violent. Leaving Razz on her own isn’t just cruel anymore - it’s perilous, and something needs to be put in fucking place before her and Adam disappear to opposite ends of the country at the start of next term. 

Adora could just stay. She’s aware, and she considers it for far too long; looking after Ma Razz, being here for when Catra finally tolerates the idea of speaking to her again. But her scholarship’s conditional, and as easy kindling as it would be, she can’t just throw it in the fire like that. Besides, if she were to, she has a suspicion she’d get affectionately whacked over the head with a broom and called a fool the next time Razz wakes up clear-minded. 

Adora’s mother relents eventually. But it’s bitter, like she’s been grinding black granules of coffee in her jaw.

The last few times she walks over to Catra’s, no one answers the door at all. Which is fair, she gets it; Rogelio’s probably had enough, and Cyra works a lot. But in three days time, she’ll be back in the city and she doesn’t think her phone is capable of breaking through whatever _this_ is. 

Adora’s beginning to think it’s agony. 

She sits in a dorm room a week later, it’s new, cold, and not quite _hers_ yet. The mattress is lumpy and uncomfortable where she’s perched on its edge, staring blankly with her eyes on the door. There’s chattering coming from the hallway. She hears it, but there’s a weight like a block of concrete has replaced the organs in her stomach, and it’s becoming increasingly harder to move the longer she stays stagnant like this. _Alpha’s are supposed to be strong, confident - so what the hell is wrong with me that I’m so fragile right now?_

She looks down at the screen in her hand, something splashes against the glass as she does. 

_The number you have dialled cannot be reached at this time, please try again later._

But it _is_ later. It’s been a hundred laters, almost two months, and a few thousand miles from everything she knows. And nothing’s changed. _Everything’s_ changed, even Adam’s not here and it’s the first time that’s ever been true and she’s-

She’s drowning. And she knows what that feels like because it almost happened once, a white-panicked moment before her grandpa had pulled her from the water. Appearing like the flash of a lighthouse against a nebulous-dark sky, before she’d coughed a whole ocean from her lungs. _‘The sea isn’t a gentle place to learn to swim, kiddo.’_ But she’d been showing off, she’d been showing off for Catra. But it was only worry that greeted her back on the beach, in one eye of gold and one of blue.

There’s a rap on the door. A polite sound, but it startles Adora enough to shatter the sob building like a wave in her chest. Her eyes stare at the source for a languid moment, wondering if the creak of a floorboard further down the hallway will let her know they’ve moved on. But then, some spark in the depths of her brain manipulates her into rising off the bed, her bare feet move over scratchy carpet, and the door’s opening before she can acknowledge her face is probably in no state to be showcased right now.

Pink. Pink hair, _very_ pink hair. 

“Hi, I’m Glimmer,” and if she’s noticed the tear stains on Adora’s cheeks, she’s sympathetic enough not to point them out. “A few of us were gonna explore campus a bit, we were wondering if you’d wanna join?” 

And maybe, Adora thinks, the flicker of a lighthouse she’s searching for doesn’t need to be one she already knows. 

* * *

“What the fuck happened in here?” Catra asks as they step back inside the house, one eyebrow raising at the rearrangement of furniture, her hand falling casually from Adora’s. She misses it immediately. “An infestation of poltergeists?” 

“I’m, uh, redecorating?” The back door _was_ open, thank god, though that in itself was never a real danger because she calculates they only made it about five minutes along the beach, but that’s not- That’s not what Adora’s attention is focused on now. Because Catra had sounded very much _something_ in the way she’d said that. And Adora thinks it might have been _insulted_. She doesn’t blame her. “I’m not gonna change a ton, I want it to still feel the same, you know?” 

Catra hums, moving past a dresser that had been living upstairs only that morning, the ends of her fingernails drumming lightly over the woodwork.

Everything’s been temporarily shoved into the living room because Adora has absolutely no plans to touch the hardwood flooring in here, and she might bite anyone that tries to suggest so.

“What exactly is it you’re aiming for,” Catra asks, a little bit of wistful sugaring her voice as she explores through a room that’s probably as nostalgia-inducing for her as it is for Adora. “To glam the place up a bit before hawking it off to one of the hundreds of rental agencies around here?” Catra looks at her then, a slight smirk that dies the moment she reads the confirmation on Adora’s face. “Right,” it’s almost a grimace, Catra does a brave job of hiding it. “Of course.” 

_You’re not staying._ Because there’s really no other interpretation for that. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing, honestly.” She’d been surer before Catra had shown up though. Adora realises she’s still standing near the doorway like an idiot. Needing to make her hands busy before she tears the cuticles off her fingers into painful strips of skin; “do you want some tea? I have decaf?” 

She thinks Catra recognises the distraction, but; “sure, thanks”

Catra’s found the couch, her legs crossed underneath her while she’s discreetly tapping something into her phone by the time Adora returns. Two mugs warming her hands. And reassured by the knowledge that she’d not actually been anywhere close to burning the house down while they’d been out. “Everything okay?”

“Dandy,” Catra replies, discarding the device into her lap as she takes one of the drinks, holding it cozily between her palms. “My friends are just making sure my face isn’t gonna end up all over the news broadcasts tomorrow morning.” 

Adora sits beside Catra, a mirror to how they’d been earlier but it doesn't sting this time - it’s an accommodation of sorts. Eye contact is still a trouble, evidently, and Adora finds herself staring at her tea. She thinks Catra’s doing the same. But the moment’s laughable because it’s like they’ve been pretending for the last few minutes that the evidence of crying isn’t still pink in their eyes. “So…” Adora begins tentatively. “There’s more?”

Catra takes a breath, it’s concerningly shaky. “Yeah.” 

“It can wait if you need it to.”

And then Catra actually is laughing, a harsh sound, but that isn’t unusual for her. “Four years isn’t long enough already?” 

Adora shrugs. What’s a few days more in the grand scheme of things? Catra’s beside her again, she thinks she doesn’t really care about an explanation so long as that doesn’t have to change. 

“What did you study? In the end?” Catra takes the offer regardless, raising the mug to her lips with knuckles turning white as they grip around the ceramic. 

“I did a masters in medieval european history.”

Catra turns to look at her, actually _look_ at her, an authentic smile breaking through her features as she does. And something in the depths of Adora’s chest blossoms at the sight of it. “Seriously? Oh my god, but of course you did, of course you went and found literally _the_ nerdiest thing in the universe to put on your diploma.” 

Adora feels lighter, like she’s listening to a faux echo of how this used to be. She smiles back. “What? It was fun, the society got free tickets to the local ren fair each year. I got to join in with a few reenactments, mess around with swords and lances and stuff.” 

“Yeah, I bet you did.” It’s mumbled into Catra’s mug but that doesn’t help Adora’s spluttering as she tries not to choke on her own. She catches a glimpse of her friend’s eye roll as she’s recovering. And then, just as quiet, “you dork.” 

“What, uh, what about you?” Adora enquiries. Catra had never been fond of the idea of college, she knows, but this conversation is achingly belated and she hasn’t a clue what Catra’s been doing all this time.

She takes a sip before replying, “I teach art classes.”

“Like, at a school? With kids?” Adora suggests, like it’s blasphemy, because only half of that makes sense alongside the imitation of her friend that lives in Adora’s mind. Though, it’s likely outdated now. She’s accepted that.

“No,” Catra shakes her head as though she’s familiar, but not vindictive, with the assumption Adora’s just made; _how omega of you_. “Adults, mostly, we go into a care home a couple times a week. Which I know is, like, _snug_ , or whatever, but it’s alright. I get use of the studio whenever I want in return for helping out - and being there was really the only thing keeping me sane after-” Her eyes fall to the mug in her hands again as she stills. 

_After._ Yeah, Adora gets that.

Her attention flickers back to earlier, and it’s kinda hard not to because _the biggest fucking crush_ keeps floating through her brain like a melody. And Catra’s within arms reach, staring at nothing, holding her tea like she needs it to warm somewhere it’s not reaching, and her freckles- God, Adora loves her freckles so fucking much, but she’d always imagined reaching out to touch them would be as incomprehensible as running her finger’s over the stars in the night sky. 

She tries it anyway. It’s a remarkable act of bravery for her, she thinks.

Catra’s skin is warm, unflinching, but the tear she finds there is wet against the pad of her thumb as she brushes it away. 

It’s like they’ve been stuck inside a blank and empty canvas, maybe there’s a few scratched lines of soulless graphite against the white. But this isn't her Catra. She wants her Catra back. 

And then, there’s a rush of colour, sparking in her palm and travelling along her bloodstream. Because Catra’s suddenly leaning into the touch, her eyes closed, as though she’s pleading for her to stay. 

_Then why did you ever leave?_

* * *

It’s early July. Catra’s storming as she walks back home, but what she’s seeing isn’t red, it’s crimson. 

Adora’s an alpha. Adora’s one of them. Like all the other immature, asshats at school that had spent the last few months teasing and calling her names for something completely outside of her own control. Her fist hadn’t been though. And it landed exactly where she’d wanted it too, cracking straight into the nose that had been invading far too close to her neck. _The fucking nerve._ She still had the purple and blue over her knuckles to prove it, as well as the detention slip Cyra had ceremoniously framed onto the living room wall. 

“You’re back early,” Rogelio japes after she marches through the front door and past him in the hallway. His expression shifts in a second, as if he’s wondering whether she needs to borrow his punching arm since her’s is all jacked up.

Her mother’s in the kitchen dressed in her nurse scrubs, evidently a moment away from leaving for her shift as she downs the last dredges of her coffee. 

“Hey,” it’s disarmingly gentle as always. Then, that reassuring smile falters a little. “Everything okay with Adora, sweetheart?” 

But her feet are thumping up the stairway, her bedroom door slamming behind her with enough force to make the hinges rattle. Throwing herself onto the bed, she pulls the comforter over her until she’s surrounded in darkness, curling in on herself like she’s begging the universe to undo this. 

It’s no surprise when she hears Cyra knocking delicately against the wood of the door a minute later. And she feels like a child. Maybe she still is. But they’d already talked at length for months about why this was nothing to be ashamed of, and why anyone who tried to convince her otherwise was an infantile jackass. They’d talked, and she’d been okay, but now it all feels fresh again. And it’s alarming because she can’t compute why finding out about Adora has made this feel brand new. It’s infuriating actually, she decides.

“Catra, honey, I have to go to work now,” her mother’s voice sounds the same way that hugs feel, and that’s nothing to do with her dynamic, that’s all Cyra. “Are you gonna be okay?” 

It comes out rough, “yeah.” 

She hears her mother sigh, and then, “I love you, Cat.”

She says it back, but it’s lost against the bedding she’s burrowed herself into.

* * *

_Then why did you ever leave?_

Adora hears the words, it takes a moment to register that she's said them out loud. She can’t decide if she wants to consider that an accident or not.

And then, in a voice that’s practically broken, Catra tells her, “my mom died.” 

Adora’s blood runs white. “Cyra?” Which feels like a stupid and unhelpful distinction to make at this point, but Adora's heart is in free fall. “When?” 

Catra’s watery eyes blink open, and she’s looking at her like Adora should know this. Like Adora does know this.

“I think she assumed I’d cool down after a while,” Catra continues, her voice tight. “I did too, honestly. But after three weeks of not leaving the house, I guess she figured my one-man protest against the universe wasn’t letting up any time soon. So, she booked some time off work. And for the first time ever, we all went on a road trip.”

Adora’s hand falls away. Swifty appears from- well, actually, Adora hasn’t been paying attention to him for the last ten minutes, so she’s not sure _where_ exactly. But he’s resting his head in Catra’s lap, looking up at her with big, brown eyes. Catra stares at him like she’s barely noticed.

“We went south, down to where I lived before. I didn’t remember any of it, I think I was barely three when she adopted me. But I figure she intended it to be some sort of pilgrimage, soul-finding, I don’t know.” Catra shrugs. Adora thinks there might be shards of ice growing in her chest. “But it did help. The fresh air alone was enough to make me realise how asinine I was being, and I was so close to feeling brave enough to respond to your avalanche of messages,” she says it like it’s a joke, but neither of them can find the will to laugh. Another pause. Adora’s not even sure she wants to know what’s coming next, because then it will be real, then it will be true, and she thinks that’s the exact reason Catra’s stalling. “And then this drunk-as-shit, _idiot_ came along out of nowhere in a SUV, and, uh...” 

Swifty whines. Adora’s gaze falls onto the scar she can see painted over Catra’s cheekbone, and it’s only then she realises her hand has slipped unconsciously into one of Catra’s.

“I wasn’t okay,” Catra’s voice is trembling now. “For a long time, I wasn’t okay. There were whole days I spent just waiting by my phone in the hope that you’d try to call again just so I could listen to a new voicemail on repeat. But I was never strong enough to answer. And even when life started to go back to normal, telling you, it- It would have been like pulling those stitches open all over again. I couldn’t do it. But you seemed to be doing alright, moving on with life like I should have been, and I thought maybe it would be better if I just... let you.” 

“Catra...” Adora squeezes her hand, tight enough that her grip grows bloodless for a while. _I’m sorry_ feels a million miles away from inadequate. Then, remembering, Adora stands, letting go as she moves to find a dresser, and a shell she knows is hidden away in the top drawer. 

She balances it over Catra’s knee when she sits back down beside her, an offering, a surrender. 

Catra blinks distantly at it for a while, sniffing, before, “you still have that?”

“Yeah,” She says, like _of course she does_. It stayed here, so much of her had stayed here; she keeps finding bits and pieces folded up and tucked away or in between the cracks in the woodwork. And Catra’s holding the shell and observing it like it’s an artifact she can’t bear to break. 

Then, Catra releases a breath like she’s deflating, “shit.” Before she lets out this awkward, heartbroken, _beautiful_ laugh.

“Shit.” Adora agrees. 

Swifty moves away then, flopping down on the floor beside Adora’s feet, sensing he’s a little less needed now. Adora’s tea has gone cold, she notices, she didn’t even get half-way through it.

“I’m sorry about Razz,” Catra says, her damp eyes still on the shell, twirling it. “I visited as often as I could. I don’t think she ever remembered. She kept getting my name wrong, which was painful at first, but then it was kinda nice, being around someone who wasn’t terrified of saying her name near me. You know?” 

“Yeah,” Adora nods, as if she hasn’t been warding off saying Catra’s for most of four years. But the world doesn’t feel so monochrome now, in sepia maybe. Because Catra’s light had always been the brightest, and she thinks she can see the flash of it on the horizon again guiding her back to coastlands she knows. And maybe, she thinks, she could be Catra’s beacon too.

“It’s weird to think a snail used to live in here,” Catra ponders softly, as if she’s pulling herself together again. “There’s probably some pretty metaphor there, but I’ve never been very good at those.” She hands it back, the colour of her flesh more vibrant now, and although it still appears she’s hurting, it’s like applying pressure to a numb scar rather than an open wound. “It would be good on a mantelpiece though.” 

An idea sparks then. “You could help, if you wanted?” 

“Help with that?” Catra’s frowning, but in a curious way.

“Decorating. Aren’t omega’s supposed to be good at that sort of stuff, nesting instincts and all that?”

Catra rolls her eyes, nothing cruel behind it, but she seems more than happy to have been handed a change in topic, even if she does start to ramble. “I know of all the stereotypes, that’s probably _the_ most harmless, but it’s still a caricature, and I mean, yeah, I am, as _me,_ good with that sort of stuff, but that’s because I’m arty and shit, but you really shouldn’t just go around assuming.” 

“So you will?” Adora asks, her smile a dash of hopeful. “Help?”

Catra pauses, but it's not like she’s considering, more like she’s waiting for Adora to pick something up. “...No.”

Her forehead is frowning, she can feel it. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t think you realise what you're asking.” 

Adora stares blankly at her.

“It’s just- It’s, like, personal, okay?” Catra looks like she’s blushing slightly, the faintest tint of rose. It’s cute, Adora thinks. “If I were to do that here - if I got attached on some subconscious level only to then spend the next few years of my life witnessing random-ass vacationers waltzing through the front door with their muddy shoes and shit, it would- It would _hurt._ ” 

“Oh,” Adora’s frown softens. “I mean, would you not be capable of helping on just a human level?” 

“Maybe, but not here,” Catra says. “The memories in this house are already too... precarious. And it’s not a behaviour that will disentangle just because you ask it to.” 

_Oh._ Adora’s not really sure what to do with that information. “Right.” 

And this silence isn’t uncomfortable, it’s familiar, like the way your mind goes still and cozy just before falling asleep. 

“Do you ever feel like the universe got us backwards?” Adora asks then, her tone calm. “Like we were made in the same cosmic factory and some newbie came along and got us muddled.”

“I did, for a while,” Catra admits, “it was nice imagining there was someone else out there I could blame. But I think anyone paying close enough attention would have guessed you were gonna end up as an alpha right from the start.”

A crinkle returns to Adora’s forehead. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah, I mean, we’re born with our dynamics, right? That’s what the biologist say; that we don’t just magically become something out of the blue, that it’s there from the start, shaping us in the background on some spiritual level.” She says it so easily, and it’s such a disconnect considering Adora has spent the last four years blaming her-being-an-alpha for the very reason Catra had torn their friendship to ribbons. 

The next few hours pass easier then, topics that aren’t so dangerous. Adora learns Rogelio is working in a bar now, that Catra’s friends run a bakery together, that sometimes she helps out with decorating special order cakes. Which, and Catra almost laughs about it, reminds Adora she’s not eaten, prompting her to grab salted pretzels from the cupboard for them to share. And they keep talking without meaning to, until long after the world outside is dark and star scattered. 

“It’s late.” Adora states. Which is, quite frankly, an impeccable observation. But Catra’s blinking like she’s drowsy, and it's not surprising in the slightest considering the effort the first part this conversation probably required. “Are your friends still nearby?”

“Uh, no.” Catra takes her head. “No, I told them they could leave.”

“Do you want me to drive you home?” Adora offers. 

But Catra’s looking at her now like she might be the most oblivious thing on the planet. It’s gone in a flash. “How chivalrous of you, but I can get a cab, Adora, it’s fine.” 

“It’s one am, aren’t most of the local cab drivers all grandpa’s that go to bed at sundown?” It was one of the good things about living in the city. She’s not sure she would trade it though, she’s also not sure why she’s debating. 

“Is this all just some master plan to get me to spend the night?” Catra says it with enough unhidden jest to save Adora’s cheeks from burning like a firepit, but the tint of red is unavoidable. 

“I mean, you could, if you wanted?” _Fuck._ Catra’s eyes have gone wide. “I mean, it’s not, it’s- Okay, there’s four whole bedrooms in this house and only one of me, which you know already, obviously and it’s, like, there’s a lot of empty space. Available. If you wanted to.” 

“Jeez, Adora. Don’t hurt yourself.” And that smirk is all Catra. All _her_ Catra. 

There might be a problem with this plan, Adora realises a few minutes later. While technically, yes, there are four bedrooms, there’s currently only one actual, assembled bed. But, and this is the part she wants to make clear, that fact hadn’t been true only this morning. 

They’re standing in the doorway, staring at the king-size her parent’s used to share on the rare occasion they stayed down here too. It’s the room Adora’s been using. Chosen because she’d spent basically no time in here growing up, so there’s few memories to hook claws into her dreams. 

“I could still drive you home.” Adora says. 

“Don’t be a wimp. It’s not like we haven’t done this a million times before.”

 _Yeah, but it was different then._ And it's worse now, actually, because they’ve _said_ things, because Catra's changed into comfy nightwear that’s at least a size too large on her frame because, dizzyingly, they're _Adora's_. All while Swifty is doing a mini tapdance by their feet at the concept of joining in with a cuddle pile, but Adora's praying, with everything that she has, that that _doesn't_ end up happening, and she can only hope it's enough to counteract whatever Swifty's sending out to the cosmos. 

And then, “this isn’t gonna be, like, a problem for you, is it?” She asks Catra.

“I have a grade-three implant. Spending all night snuggled up next to alpha pheromones is _not_ going to be an issue.” Catra says, as if it’s supposed to be reassuring. 

And it should be. It _has_ to be, Adora decides, because otherwise, she’s not gonna manage to fall asleep at all.


	5. Chapter 5

Adora’s warm.

The window’s open above the headboard, she knows because she can hear the sound of the breeze through wind chime that hangs from the pergola below. Birds are singing. It’s mostly seagulls, she thinks that still counts.

There’s a weight over the comforter near her knees, trapping her legs in place, but that’s not new, that’s the collie her brother has spent the last year coddling until he refused to sleep anywhere else. And it’s like Swifty’s playing the sword from the fable of Tristan and Iseult, because he’s snuggled like a barricade in between the lower half of her and-

And _Catra._

Adora’s eyes open, unhurried, as if she doesn’t want to break the moment by spooking too fast.

There’s a pattern of morning light over Catra’s cheek where it falls from the window, she must have tried to escape from it at some point because her face is mostly buried into the pillow.

A pillow that they’re _sharing._

There’s thirteen. Thirteen that she can count, scattered across Catra’s cheek and over the bridge of her nose before the rest are hidden into crumpled linen, and Adora swears there are galaxy’s that aren’t as beautiful.

Unruly ruffles of short, curly hair take up the rest of her vision. Adora had been conflicted about it at first. Perhaps even a little resentful that a part of Catra that had always seemed so intrinsically _Catra_ had been taken away, but actually, looking at it while near enough to run her hands through, it’s really fucking cute, Adora decides.

She doesn’t. Touch it, that is. She really, _really_ wants to though. And her recollection's swimming with that time Catra had tolerated Adora braiding her hair, back when they were (fifteen maybe? Adora’s uncertain.) How her friend’s eyes had closed, and how she’d been practically humming throughout. Purring, actually. But Catra had denied that, of course she had.

It’s a gallant effort on Swifty’s part. But there exists no version of that tale in any language that doesn't end in tragedy - and, like a certified dork, Adora had read every single one of them. She’s not even sure how they’ve ended up so close because they hadn’t started like this when they’d climbed into bed. They’d been distant, guarded. But someone’s nestled closer in their sleep and Adora’s not yet aware enough of her surroundings to figure out who.

She’s gonna blame the dog.

Adora wonders if it’s all those years of sharing the twin in her old room, when this one had been here, empty, and a convenient solution to something they’d never considered a problem. Even past the point when their teenage limbs had become impossibly tangled to save them from falling out of bed. Maybe it’s a habit stuck in the deepest corners of their subconscious. But it wouldn’t be dark there, she thinks, it would be endlessly golden, where there’s eternal sand and waves and sun. Where there’s eternal _them._

She almost _whines_ then, it’s, well it’s _embarrassing_. But she doesn’t want to wake Catra while she’s looking even more content than Swifty, somehow. And. It’s also, like, the ass-crack of dawn. On a Sunday. So Catra might never forgive her if she did.

And shit, _her phone_. Her alarm's about to go off in an undetermined amount of time and if Adora’s awake, that means it could be soon. She turns, extending an arm to snatch it from the bedside cabinet where it’s been charging overnight, before settling back down. Facing the ceiling now, rather than Catra, she hopes that will help.

She finds a million messages waiting for her.

(Unread) Yesterday, 10:14 AM.

Glim: we have a catastrophe!

look at this :(

[Glim sent a photo.]

my desk plant died :((

Bow: You’ve been there all of three weeks, HOW have you managed to kill it so quickly?

Glim: :(

Bow: Baby, I bought that for you!

Glim: I'm sry

can we arrange a funeral plz

Bow: I can not believe you neglected our CHILD

Yesterday, 10:17 AM.

Glim: …uh

so

juliet just told me plants can't have coffee

Bow: No?? Of course they can't!?

You were giving it coffee??

Glim: i thought it would make it grow faster!

you told me to water it!

Bow: Yeah! With WATER! It’s in the name, Glimmer!

Adora scrolls down, rolling her eyes fondly.

She’d normally not let so many notifications pile up, and she feels a tad guilty about it but she’d been distracted pretty much all of yesterday with Blue and co, and then with _Catra_ , so she thinks it’s fair. Maybe her friends would be proud of her, even.

Yesterday, 12:41 PM

Glim: i just thnk its really ballsy when the yoghurt CLEARLY had my name written on it

but its just like disrespectful when my mom’s practically ceo of this place

precarious ground to be walking on buddy, my dude, whoever tf you are

i bet this wouldn't happen if we didn't work wknds fml

fckn thief

Bow: How many funerals are you planning today, exactly?

Glim: idk

gettin kinda worried adora’s bubble has been left miles above us

babe you still alive?

Bow: Bubble?

Glim: u know

the little icon, circle thing

her bubble

Bow: Anyway, I’m sure she’s fine.

Maybe she’s making friends.

Glim: …

Bow: Don’t be mean.

More nonsense follows.

Catra shifts beside her then; an arm stretching languidly over the sheets until it’s ghosting against the waistband of Adora’s pajama bottoms, and it makes her heart jump a few times like it’s on a professional trampoline, but when she glances, Catra’s still very much asleep. Still very much dishevelled. And still very much _beautiful._

Adora grimaces. This could be a problem. But her phone's not the distraction she needs it to be.

Yesterday, 5:32 PM

Bow: Okay, now I’m getting concerned too. Adora, can you please reply so we know you're okay?

Glim: i can have police at the door in five minutes

Bow: Do NOT do that.

Do you even know the address?

Glim: no…

but I could describe it

vividly

Bow: Can we please agree we’re not sending the cops over.

Glim: fine

but what if she’s like

actually not okay?

Missed Call: Glimmer, Yesterday, 5:39 PM

Missed Call: Glimmer, Yesterday, 5:41 PM

Yesterday, 5:42 PM

Glim: she’s not answering her phone

Bow: I thought we’d already established that.

Glim: no

like, i could understand her ignoring a few notifications

but a whole-ass phone buzzing for 30 seconds???

Bow: Maybe she’s on silent.

Glim: she better be

Missed Call: Bow, Yesterday, 9:08 PM

Missed Call: Glimmer, Yesterday, 12:27 [Voice Mail: 1]

Adora plays it, nerves building in her chest like she’s swallowed a vial of poison.

“ _Adora, babe, can you please let us know if you’re okay_?”

“ _I called Light Hope, I know it’s been a whole year since the last time you saw her, but I was getting really concerned. She didn’t say much, I know there’s not a lot she could tell me considering all that doctor-patient confidentiality stuff, but shit, you’re really stressing me out, you’ve never gone quiet this long, and Light Hope sounded all agitated when I mentioned where you were and now I’m seriously, like, freaking-the-shit out. So can you please just message us back_.”

Adora hears her friend sigh, exasperated, but then, Glimmer’s tone is shifting and that guilt from before rushes back. “ _Bow keeps trying to convince me your phone must be dead, but I’m struggling to believe you’d let that happen to both that and your mac. Unless the power’s gone out. I don’t know. Shit_.”

A beat of silence. _“I’m probably just overreacting.”_ Then, the phone gives off a monotonous beeping noise as if it’s as fed up with this as Glimmer sounds.

_You have no new voicemails at this time._

_Shit._

Adora yanks her phone off it's life support cable, raising it over her head as she taps through to the front-facing camera. Snapping an image of a sheepish smile before releasing it like a wild thing through to the group chat.

Today, 6:11 AM

Adora: [You sent a photo.]

Hi! Still very much alive

sorry

I got caught up with stuff yesterday, but i’m all good i promise

I can’t believe you called my therapist

Glim: …

Bow: oh my god...

Glim: ...

I”M GOING TO MURDER YOU ADORA GRAY

SO HELP ME, I’LL USE MY BARE HANDS IF I HAVE TO

Bow: She’s just angry because she loves you

but

oh my god

Glim: I”M SERIOUS

YOU BETTER HAVE A GOOD EXCUSE YOUNG LADY

DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG I STAYED UP LAST NIGHT?!

MY HANDS WERE SHAKING

I”M GONNA NEED FCKN BLOOD PRESSURE MEDICATION JUST BECAUSE OF THIS

WHERE IS MY GODDAMN SHOVEL

Bow: Glimmer!

Glim: DONT TELL ME TO BE QUIET ARROW BOY YOURE ON SHAKY GROUND TOO

THE GRAVE IS READY AND WAITING FOR YOU!!

I’LL DRAG YOUR ASS HALFWAY ACROSS THE COUNTRY IF THATS WHAT IT TAKES

MY CAR TRUNKS BIG ENOUGH TO FIT A BODY

Bow: Glimmer!!!!

Wait, how do you know that?

But Glimmer. Babe!

Glim: WHAT?

Bow: Sweetheart, do me a favour and look a little closer at the pic she just sent.

Adora frowns. Panning back up and-

Shit. Fuck, shit. _Fuckfuckshitfuck._

Today, 6:13 AM

Glim: PLEASE TELL ME THAT IS A SEVERED HAND AND THAT YOU DONT HAVE SOMEONE SLEEPING IN YOUR BED WITH YOU RIGHT NOW??!?!!

Bow: Congrats on the sex, buddy.

Adora stares lax jawed at the chat for a moment while she returns from a semi-panic attack.

Today, 6:13 AM

Adora: No. No, no. No.

Not like that

At all

Glim: so you’re currently sharing a bed with someone

like

platonically

Adora: Exactly!

Thank you for understanding

Glim: can you maybe see how that would

actually BE WORSE

who in hell do you know down there well enough to share a bed with

PLATONICALLY

???

Bow: Wait.

Oh. My God.

A beat of those ominous three dots, and then,

Today, 6:14 AM

Bow: It’s HER isn’t it?

Glim: shit

shit!

was she the one at the party?!!!?!

when you flipped out?!!

Adora: uhh

maybe...

Bow: That’s CATRA? THE Catra?

Glim: how do YOU know her name?

Bow: Because I’m perceptive

Also

Adam said it once when he mentioned one of your guy’s vacations down there, something about a boat trip

And Adora got all pale

Glim: oh my god...

this isn’t little miss

I’m jealous that you're an alpha and I’m not so I'm gonna

sabotage our whole friendship in a dumpster fire and leave you

clinically depressed for A WHOLE YEAR???

Adora: If it helps, she did actually apologise for that

Glim: ARE YOU KIDDING ME??!?

Adora: gtg! She’s waking up!

It’s another lie, because normally people, sane people, don’t wake up at stupid o’clock on a weekend unless they have a flight to rush off to, or demanding internship hours or a dog that's whining to be let outside or- or _something._

Swifty, for all his faults, is just as deep asleep as Catra right now. And Adora should just let herself join them again, she considers it, but she’s not sure she’s actually capable anymore.

Her fingers are vibrating as she drops a note to Light Hope. It’s making things difficult, she has to go back and edit a few misplaced letters. And then, another to Glimmer - an actual apology, because she knows. She’s aware what this probably looked like. And Glimmer’s seen her darker than anyone.

She’ll leave it for her friend to chew on until she feels like returning to lowercase with the rest of them.

Finished, Adora lets the device flop down onto her chest.

Her gaze falls back to the childhood friend sleeping beside her then, and she can’t _not_ , because Catra’s, like, actually _here_ , and that in itself seems beyond miraculous, but also, and it’s so faint she thinks she’s only just registering the fact;

Catra’s scent is different now.

And not in _that_ way - it’s the same as it had been yesterday and all of last night. But her senses then had been overtaken by memories and conversation. And. Catra’s also _significantly_ closer now, so Adora’s only just noticing.

Catra smells like an omega. But that’s never been something Adora’s been capable of identifying, because it's not _things,_ exactly, it’s not something floral or sweet or ascribable.

It's _feelings_. Like arriving home from the frost-stricken outdoors in the middle of winter and the air in the entryway tells her there’s cookies baking in the oven. Or like that first moment crawling under a cotton-down comforter after a day that’s lasted a little too long, with limbs that feel a little too achy. Or, and Adora thinks this one might just be her’s, like waking to the sound of harsh, squawking seagulls and the distant crash of waves.

It is, at any given moment, exactly where she wants to be.

Catra probably hates it. They’re pretty commonplace now, but even with an implant as strong as hers, it’s not something that will allow itself to be dialled all the way down to zero. Adora’s glad though. It would probably be hypnotising otherwise. Or, at least, more so. Because it's pretty hypnotising already, actually, and uh, maybe a little bit alarmingly. So. She should probably get up and make breakfast or something. Yeah.

Adora's gonna get up now.

* * *

Breakfast turns out to be a double-sized coffee and plateful of staring out at the beach for an unreasonable length of time.

She’s opened the sliding doors. The breeze is nice, but she can feel the temperature rising like it’s going to be one of those days that leaves her sunburnt if she’s not careful. That’d never been a problem for Catra, she remembers. Her friend had always been left unfairly tan, glowing. And Adora left envious - at least, she’d thought that was what it was at the time, she realised years ago that what she was pining for was something else.

She’s contemplating the dregs of her coffee by the time Catra wakes, she’s only made aware because Swifty follows, descending the stairs like he can’t be bothered to take them one at a time. She might even call it falling.

Catra’s feet are much lighter. “Since when do you wake up so early?” She inquires, approaching, her voice warm, a little bit teasing. She’s dressed now, back in her own clothes.

“Uh,” Adora watches as Catra easily and without a single misstep finds what she needs from the cupboards to assemble her own drink. “I normally get up to go for a run with Swifty before it gets too hot.” The dog in question brushes past her leg then, slipping out the open door in a blink. She lets him, he should probably stretch his legs a bit.

“You’re running now?” Catra asks, like she’s completely unbothered not knowing these mundane things that keep causing Adora so much heartache. “When did that happen?”

 _Same time I started seeing Light Hope._ Adora’s not comfortable sharing that yet though. “First year,” she shrugs. “It was something to do.”

Catra joins her across the room, the crescent moons of her fingernails clinking against the mug as she does. It’s a nervous habit, a recognisable one. And it’s reassuring because a; Adora’s clearly not the only one who still feels unbalanced about this whole situation, and b; Catra’s happy to be communicating that fact in a way Adora will pick up on. Consciously or not.

“You sleep okay?” Adora asks.

“Yeah. Thanks.” Catra replies, uncharacteristically soft, raising her mug to take a sip, both of them offering most of their attention to the ocean. It’s casual when she asks, “what are your plans today?”

Adora’s heart skips, nearly uncomfortable. “I don’t really... have any.” _Translation: you could be my plan, if you wanted._ For a moment, a stupid one, she tries to lean against the door, and then it’s shifting, and she’s straightened herself before she falls with it. “What- What about you?”

Catra’s smile is faint, which tells Adora she noticed, but isn’t gonna be snarky about it. “I was gonna head to the studio, Sunday mornings are prime time to get shit done before the classes start.”

“Oh,” but it’s _relief,_ actually. Because now she’s not so blindsided, it’s like they’re teetering around this dark, empty abyss of what their friendship used to be, and she’s worried one of them is gonna slip. Her heart settles within her ribcage, and it’s almost better, easier - the thought of being able to step away from the edge for a while. She hopes that’s not audible when she says, “do you need a ride?”

Catra’s eyes glance to hers, the smile less hidden this time, and then; “Scorpia’s got it covered, thanks, she’s heading to the bakery in a bit anyway.” She takes another slow sip of her drink. “Something about a gigantic-” her eyes roll playfully, “- _baroque_ wedding order due later this week.”

“Right,” Adora nods, sympathetic, uneasy. “So... Scorpia. She’s an alpha?” It seems fitting that Catra would want to surround herself with broken archetypes. And a cupcake baking alpha might be Adora’s favourite.

“She’s just a friend, Adora.”

And then, she’s red. “I didn’t- I wasn’t-” _She wasn’t._

“Oh, calm down, you’re so jumpy,” the grin on Catra’s face tells her she’s teasing, and Adora immediately feels the blood rush from her cheeks. “I get it though, Scorpia’s cool, super useful when immature dickwads want to get a little too close. And it’s not like I’ve ever brushed off that assumption when it grows on its own, you know? But an omega being friends with an alpha? Some people’s brains self implode at the mere concept.”

“Yeah,” Adora agrees, swirling the remnants of her drink around the bottom of her mug. Filing away the fact that Catra had said the word oh-so-easily, as though ignoring that she’d barely been able to say it out loud over the phone all those years ago. Still, the question is cautious, “you seem more... comfortable with it now.”

A slight hike in her eyebrow. “Comfortable with what?”

 _Shit, do I really want to do this._ She drops all eye contact, Swifty’s digging something up within the sand dunes, she hopes it’s not a dead thing. “...being an omega.”

Catra blinks at her. “Well, yeah. What else was I gonna do? Stay juvenile and grumpy about it forever?” She smirks at the idea, it is - amazingly, a light expression. “I got an implant pretty much immediately, grew up, and accepted the stereotypes in my head only lived there because I kept watering them. Mom, _before_ … helped me to figure out I was still going to be _me_ , regardless.”

Adora’s jaw tenses like it’s been iron-wired shut. “Right.”

A chime on Catra’s phone prevents her from noticing. “Oh. Scorpia’s here,” it sounds like she’d been hoping for a tad more time, and that in itself leaves Adora feeling warmer. “But, uh, before I head, out. There’s this thing happening Friday evening - normally local kids only, but I guess you count now, at least, temporarily.” Catra’s looking straight at her again, her eyes warm and hopeful. “You could come. If you wanted?”

And then, as if she hasn’t spent four years avoiding these sorts of social events at college like she was running away from pestilence itself, “sure, I’d- I’d love to.”

* * *

Adora’s nineteen, she’s glowering at her laptop screen as she fills out an application form for a residential trip next year.

Austria. They’re visiting a castle, she can’t remember the name, but someone important died there in a beautifully morbid way and the itinerary also includes a trip to a working medieval forge where she might get to make her own spearhead.

Glimmer’s words: as appealing as watching paint dry. But Adora’s buzzing through every inch of her veins about it.

But.

She’s stuck. The first few questions were fine, multichoice tick boxes mostly. Name. Age. Gender. Address.

But now, she’s paused at the end of the very first section, because...

Dynamic;

Adora frowns, it’s creating valleys in her forehead. _Why do they even need to ask that_? All this information is on her student profile already, it’s unnecessary, bureaucratic _bullshit._

She ticks that box eventually, but she’s left feeling uneasy about it for the rest of the day.

* * *

The world turns quiet again. But now, when Adora’s phone buzzes in her pocket, sometimes it’s Catra’s name she sees on the lock screen. She smiles like a fool every time.

They swapped contacts, obviously. Catra’s changed at some point, Adora doesn’t want to ask _when_ , precisely, but now she has it again it feels like the numbers are a string of something sacred. But she also doesn’t want to bother, not while Catra’s working and she’s not.

On Wednesday, Catra sends through an image of what she’s apparently been working on in her free time. It’s- Well, it’s-

Stunning.

Adora stares dumbly at her phone for a few minutes before sending back, “Yours?!”

It’s watercolour, she thinks, she’s not the best at identifying. A landscape of a beach and a slip under the light of sundown, the weather’s a little stormy in the distance, but it’s like Catra’s flawlessly incorporated every single colour available on her pallet.

It deserves to be in an art gallery, it _needs_ to be.

And then, Catra sends another, titled ‘warm-up sketch’. This one of Swifty in simple black and white, a lopsided smile with his eyes closed, silly and cartoonish, but Adora loves it just the same. She saves it, dropping it through to Adam a minute later.

Today, 7:19 PM

Adam: thnx, i have a new lockscreen now

Teela says hi, btw, and she loves it too

since when do you art tho

Adora: I didn’t make it

Adam: u been teaching swifty?

is it a self portrait

Adora: No

It's Catra's

She braces, a foregin type of nerves thrumming from her chest into the tips of her fingers.

Incoming call: Adam.

She answers immediately. “Hi.”

“ _Um. Hi? Hi? That’s all you have to say_?” Adam begins, like this is the most thrilling news he’s had in months. “ _Catra’s talking to you again? Catra’s seen my dog? Which also means Catra’s seen you, like, in person, and you’re only now telling me? When did this happen? What even is ‘this’? Are you friends again now, did she apologise?"_

He gasps dramatically as though he's just had a thought he needs the world to hear. " _Oh my god, will you please have a fall wedding? I think it would be so pretty.”_

She rolls her eyes so heavily it’s almost pained. “Well, it’s been all of five days, so maybe hold back on planning your speech. But yeah, we’re talking again-”

She explains everything. Every moment since his last update, and Adora’s not even sure why she’d been holding back - maybe, because she has a suspicion he’s been planning a best-man address since they were eight years old, and if this breaks while it’s so fragile, he might be as heartbroken as her.

“ _Holy shit_ ,” he says once she’s finished. “ _That’s... intense_.”

She grimaces. “I know.”

“ _But did you- Jesus. I don’t know how to say this without it sounding selfish, but does she know? Did you explain any of what you’d be through_?”

Adora chews at a nail. “I mean, yes? Not in any great detail…”

“ _Adora_.” It’s a warning.

“I know. I know.” Her smile is slipping back to the ground now, like it’s the last flower falling from its stem before the frost hits. “It seemed self-centred at the time.”

“ _Yeah, I can see how that would be difficult, considering._ ” She hears him pause, it makes her nervous, like there’s snakes coiling low in her stomach, because she knows how honest her twin can be. “ _It’s just- She put up a wall, right? And maybe she thought you’d just walk away, but it also meant she wasn’t there to see every time your skin got scuffed and bloodied trying to climb over it.”_

“Look at you, being all poetic.” An attempt, it earns nothing more than a sympathetic sigh.

“ _Look, I love Catra, she’s always felt like a second sister to me, but, jeez, Adora, we shared a womb for nine months, so I think I have a right to be more worried about you_.” Adora nods, even though she knows he can’t tell, she thinks she might be confirming it to herself. “ _Just, look after yourself, okay_?”

“Always.”

* * *

_Fuck_. Why did she agree to this? People are tolerable at best, and it’s worse when they’re _new_ , and exponentially so when there’s _loads_ _of them_. She doesn’t want to count, but she might run out of fingers _and_ toes before she got there, if she tried.

Swifty’s at her feet. Catra said he was welcome, and that besides a bit of bonfire smoke, there’d be no nefarious substances that might cause him harm - so long as he kept his nose out of whatever was in Perfuma’s herbal concoctions.

Adora doesn’t ask.

It’s dark, which means, in the middle of summer, it’s _late_ , late. At least, by her standards. The moon’s dancing over the ocean in ripples. There’s a large fire in the middle of the gathering, stacks of driftwood ready to be sacrificed as the evening goes on. Music’s coming from a speaker somewhere.

It’s a whole lot of faces she doesn’t recognise, people forming clumps of their own social groups. There’s a fluidity to it. And while they seem to have factions, a few are moving between.

She notices Blue as he looks over his shoulder, DT reclined against his frame, as the alpha sends a mock salute of greeting.

Catra stands from the other side of the bonfire, beckoning, Adora’s made aware because Swifty makes a beeline in her direction and the leash tugs in her hand. Catra’s dressed in a band shirt (that Adora’s never heard of) under these high-waisted, denim overalls that are showing a lot, _a lot_ , of leg, and it’s a candidate for the gayest outfit Adora’s ever seen and she’s not. She’s not. Freaking out about it.

She doubts the way she’s looking counts as respectful, so Adora turns her attention to the two others sat with her, their faces familiar now, as Catra returns to lean against the cushion perched against a large camping cooler.

“Hi!” The purple-haired one greets, her eyes very much on Swifty. That might actually be a good thing, Adora thinks.

“Uh, hello,” Adora gives an awkward wave of her hand to the trio, the one not attempting to hold Swifty back from licking his new, very-best-friend's face. “I’m-”

“Adora.” Scorpia finishes. “We know.” She’s smiling, there’s nothing... suspicious about it, but it’s definitely guarded. Adora’s captivated though, Scorpia had looked impressive from across a room, from across her driveway, but up close, the only logical descriptive flailing around in her mind is. _Big. Lady_.

“Can I pet your dog?” The- (It seems unfair to call her purple-haired again, but she still hasn’t been introduced.)

“That’s Entrapta, by the way,” Catra informs her, then, quieter, “you wanna sit, or stand like a scarecrow the rest of the night?”

Adora sits. Letting Swifty go a little so he can step into Entrapta’s lap, she seems delighted about it. But she’s also hyper-aware that while Catra’s legs are crossed underneath her, one of her knees is pressing very, very gently against Adora’s thigh. “Rogelio’s not here?” Adora queries, a diversion.

“Nah,” Catra tells her, she doesn’t seem to have noticed. “He has to work most evenings. But, he did manage to get us a bunch of drinks at stock princes, so he’s here in spirit.” She says, tapping the cooler behind her. “You want one?”

“No,” she shakes her head, declining. “I’m driving home, so...” She could walk to the house in five minutes from here, however. Catra would know this.

“We have beer?”

Adora’s nose scrunches a little, “It’s not really my thing.”

“Lemonade?” Scorpia offers. “I don’t drink, so I always bring a bunch.”

It’s a kind gesture, in two ways, because Adora’s expectations of the evening have just shifted and she feels notably more comfortable. “Sure. Thank you.”

Catra swivels, digging a (mason jar?) out of the cooler, but it also means that for a moment, her knee is pressing just that little bit more into Adora. “It’s homemade _,”_ she whispers in explanation as she hands it over.

“Thanks.” _Shit, did that sound breathy?_

“What’s their name?” Entrapta asks, like she’s blanked out the rest of the conversation for being unimportant. That's probably fair though.

“Uh, he’s called Swifty.”

“Huh, that’s weird.” Entrapta’s petting his ears, and the dog in question practically melts onto her lap.

Adora shrugs. “My brother chose it.” She’s not actually sure why.

Etrapta tells her after a slow minute spent fussing over the overgrown puppy, “I had a dog called Emily.”

 _Okay, common ground, I can work with that._ “What’s she like?”

And then, Entrapta’s replying, so, so bluntly, “she’s dead now.”

 _Oh._ Why does everyone keep dying, it’s making things super awkward. She twists the lid off the mason jar then, it makes a stupid popping sound and she regrets having done it immediately, because now she’s gonna be the jackass taking a sip after she’d just heard _that_. Maybe she should make a toast... or something?

Catra snorts beside her, as if she’s been watching this like a badly written comedy sketch, “jeez, ‘trapta, I asked you to go easy on her.”

It is, she thinks, the first time Entrapta actually meets her eyes. “Sorry. He’s very cute.”

“It’s okay,” Adora replies, smiling - she hopes warmly.

“Entrapta can be blunt,” Catra tells her, but it sounds fond. “She’s not doing it to be ornery, she’s just a bit, uh-”

“I have Asperger's,” Entrapta informs her, her eyes lighting up a second later, as though she’s just figured out what Catra means. “Oh! I can see how you might have assumed I was been prickly, since Catra’s our friend and we might be defensive over her, right?” She waits for Scorpia’s nod, it’s a little awkward. “Don’t worry. It’s really nice to meet you, Adora.” And then she adds, like it’s the most important part “I really like your dog.”

Adora smiles again, this time it _is_ warm. She thinks Catra relaxes a little bit more beside her, and Swifty is now sprawled over the beta’s legs. “I think he really likes you, too.”

Entrapta _beams._

Scorpia clears her throat then, “so, Catra tells us you studied history? Medieval... something or other?” She recalls it like it’s Catra who’s forgotten, not herself, but like she’s apologizing for that fact anyway. “That’s a pretty broad topic, what did you do your thesis on?”

Adora loosens, because, _yes_ , she can talk about this, she can talk about this for days. “It was on the influence of omega figures throughout the latter half of the middle ages, with a focus on dynasties in Western Europe.” Maybe she shouldn’t have phrased it so pretentiously.

Catra raises an eyebrow, it’s the first time she’s heard that, Adora thinks she looks impressed. Scorpia seems to have softened what little rough edges she’d had, as though she’s decided in that moment that Adora’s okay.

“That sounds fascinating!” Entrapa sits upright, her eyes sparkling with more than just the flicker of the bonfire. It might be the first time anyone has shared her enthusiasm. “Can you send it to me?’

It takes Adora back. Only her supervisor had ever asked that before. “Uh, sure. If you want?” _Is she just being polite?_

“Entrapta reads stuff like that like most people watch Netflix.” Catra’s smiling.

“History?”

“Anything,” Entrapta replies, grinning. “I stayed up till three am last night because I found an article on the development of robot war strategies over the last decade. It was thrilling.”

Catra shrinks then, glancing over her shoulder. It’s whispered, “shit, we’ve got company.” Adora follows her line of sight to find a thin woman in a floral summer dress approaching.

“Hey, Perfuma.” Scorpia’s welcome is much warmer.

“Hi,” she’s looking _right_ at Adora. It’s not at all intimidating. “You must be the Adora I’ve been hearing so much about.” She sits then, not waiting for an invite, and while Catra’s closeness is welcome, if a little heartstopping, Perfuma’s just all imposing. Not in a nasty way, but like she’s stepped inside of her favourite tv show and isn’t about to waste a chance to grill the characters. “You’re all she’s been talking about at the studio this week.”

Catra chokes on her glass of something-or-other, it’s alcoholic, Adora can detect the spice of it in her bloodstream. But then she’s shaking her head dismissively, like she’s fine.

“Uh, hi.” Adora stammers. “You work with Catra?”

“Yeah, I organise the classes, I’m a licensed art therapist.” She explains cheerfully, and then, “how is Razz’s house coming along?” Adora forgets sometimes that these people grew up here, grew up in the same town that her grandma _lived in_. Still, the question feels a little bold.

“Good. I guess. I might have everything sorted by the end of the month, actually.” Adora tells her, picking up instantly on the minute shift in Catra’s mood, like she’s turned cagey. No one else seems to notice, and she doesn’t want to draw attention by apologising (for what exactly? Adora doesn’t know, but she still feels the want to) Catra grabs another drink from the cooler, finishing the first, but the conversation is suddenly steered away by Scorpia. Her heart rate is different now, Adora notices, with Perfuma here.

Adora lets herself drift for a while, drinking her lemonade, happy to just listen now that attention has shifted. Someone's roasting marshmallows on the opposite side of the bonfire, she can smell when one burns. And slowly, Catra starts softening again, Adora knows, because she can feel Catra relaxing more of her weight against Adora’s side. Cozy like. No one else seems as alarmed by it as Adora, maybe they haven’t noticed, maybe they don’t think it’s a big deal. But it is. It is a big deal, and her heart’s thumping out of rhythm and she’s sure Catra should be able to tell.

Adora zones back into the conversation. Entrapta’s still got Swifty and it’s the first time she’s been envious of that fact. More people have joined their circle, Adora, unfortunately, doesn’t recognise any of them.

“-what are the bets that Mermista and Seahawk come back from Uruguay with matching bite marks next week?”

“It would be about time, those two have been dancing around each other since kindergarten,” someone else answers, Adora thinks she only has the capacity to be paying attention to Catra’s warm body beside hers right now. “I’m surprised they weren't bonded years ago.”

Adora turns to Catra, hushed, “who are they talking about?”

“Two idiots from our school,” Catra says, mellow, humming a little. “They’ve been in love for, like, ever, and then suddenly they announce they’re going on a trip, just the two of them, like that’s not suspicious at all.”

“Oh.”

Purfuma’s talking again. “-I still maintain that those two have been unknowingly bonded for years, it’s not unheard of for that to happen without a claiming mark, you know.”

Adora practically feels Catra roll her eyes. “You’re still pushing that fairytale, hippy shit? When has that ever actually happened outside of movies?” She doesn’t sound unkind, just like she’s playing, a little too roughly considering she’s talking to her boss, Adora thinks.

“The theory _is_ lacking any substantial scientific evidence.” Entrapta tacks on.

“Yes, well, science can’t always explain _everything_.” Perfuma disputes. “And it’s nice to think that a life-defining-” her fingers make quotation marks in the air “-cosmic-altering _pull_ toward another human being might have more of a basis than just sinking your teeth deep enough into someone’s neck. It seems a bit archaic.”

Adora’s suddenly feeling very uncomfortable.

“But there _is_ more to it than that,” Entrapta frowns, it disappears a moment later. “Did you know they’ve recorded MRI’s of people’s brains just after the bite, and the whole thing lights up like fireworks on the machines.” She glances to Scorpia then, as though proud of her description. Scorpia shoots her a supportive thumbs up. “But they also found the reaction is a lot stronger between people who already have a romantic connection, and that when a mark is created between people with no previous relationship at all, the brain’s response is pretty negligible. They think that’s why unwanted or unintentional bites don’t always leave a lasting mark.”

The concept there isn’t new, but Entrapta seems enthralled by actual proof of it.

“Wait a minute,” Perfuma shakes her head like she’s trying to grasp something. “So, they got a bunch of participants, some in committed relationships, and some not, to go around and bite each other - all for the purposes of _data analysis_?

Entrapta nods, like it’s wonderful. “Yeah!”

And then, like it's _appalling,_ Perfumes asks, “why on earth would they agree to do that?”

“For science!” Entrapta’s rocking a little where she’s sat now. She seems more excited than anything, and settles when Swifty repositions himself with his chin over her leg.

“It’s not like it can’t be undone.” Scorpia points out, sounding unsettled about the prospect regardless.

“But... still.” Perfuma says. It's understandable, Adora thinks. To most, a claiming bite would be an even more consecrated act than exchanging wedding bands. Or whatever the cultural, modern equivalent.

The rest of the evening is less blush-inducing. It’s comfortable, even. Someone passes s’mores around, and Adora’s hands are left covered in melted marshmallows and chocolate. But Catra, and she’s trying not to worry about it, _keeps_ drinking - and Adora can tell by the way her bloodstream’s reacting that this isn’t a normal behaviour. But Catra’s content, smiley. So, Adora doesn’t press.

The gathering splinters eventually. Perfuma and Scorpia disappear in a trail of footsteps and moonlight along the peninsula. Entrapta left half an hour ago, which means she has the collie’s undivided attention again.

Adora’s decided Catra gets affectionate when she’s drunk. It’s… an inconvenience.

“Can you please just tell me your address so I can take you home?"

"No."

"Catra. That’s not helpful." She’s trying to help the omega onto her feet. Catra’s not unbalanced, she’s just being difficult. She also won’t let go of Adora’s hands once she’s up.

"I've temporarily misplaced my address, I guess you'll just have to bring me back to yours." Catra grins like a cheshire cat. “Also, home’s like, thirty minutes away, and your’s is, like, ten - _and_ it’s almost three am, so...”

Adora has to stop this pitiful noise as it builds in the back of her throat. None of Catra’s friends are around to help, she could just leave her for Scorpia to deal with when she gets back, but that feels mean. And she’d survived a night of bedsharing already. She can do it again, she thinks.

The car ride back isn’t silent. Catra keeps messing around with the radio dial because at this time of night it’s mostly club music that’s only handleable when you’re a certain kind of intoxicated. Swifty’s out like a light in the back seat.

Then, they’re in the driveway, and Adora’s debating stealing Catra’s phone to dial Rogelio to actually ask for an address. But that would require digging though Catra’s pockets, and, nope, she’s not doing that. She decides she’ll sleep on the couch.

Leaving a mental note to put the rest of the bedrooms back together again as soon as possible, Adora unlocks the front door, allowing Catra and a very tired dog to step through the entryway.

She fuses around, double-checking all the doors and windows are locked shut for a while, repeating the circuit, unnecessarily. Catra’s disappeared upstairs, Swifty’s collapsed in the hallway, and she tells herself she won’t make him tag along next time. She’ll survive, she thinks.

But, Adora needs a pillow, preferably a blanket too, and the only functional options for either of those are stored in the upstairs bedroom.

It’s like Catra’s waiting for her, sat at the foot of the bed, her legs swinging a little, cheeks a tiny bit flushed.

Catra looks up. Blinks. And then she’s standing, moving toward her, her head tilted a little like she’s observing something she wants to paint. Adora’s heart drops in her chest. And-

Uhhh.

So.

Catra’s-

Catra’s kissing her. And something in Adora _melts_ into the feel of it. She thinks its rum and coke Catra’s been drinking all night, she can taste it, but mostly it’s all just _Catra_. And that’s intoxicating in its own right, because she’s warm, pressing her body against Adora’s and she’s sighing against her mouth like it’s a melody, and, shit, she’s not thinking. She’s not thinking. _She’s not thinking._

Adora steps back. It’s fast enough that Catra stumbles, a hand bracing on Adora’s arm, before she shakes it off. And then, Adora says, a little bit heartbroken, “what are you doing?” _You’re drunk._ But she thinks there’s no way of saying that without it coming out harsh. “Go to _bed_ , Catra.”

She grabs what she needs from the wardrobe, refusing to meet Catra’s eyes again as she escapes downstairs with enough heat in her step that Swifty wakes up for a moment, glaring at her. And then, she’s throwing herself onto the couch, pressing a cushion over her face and letting out a muffled scream.

Fuck. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, and it almost feels like something’s been stolen from them. Because they can’t get a _first_ back. And Catra had - drunk and reckless and _wasteful_ , just stolen something Adora had been imagining with her for years. _This shouldn’t have happened yet. And it shouldn’t have happened like this_.

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic officially has a muse; Lost in The Thick of It, by Gabrielle Aplin and The Coronas. Also, there is gonna be six chapters now.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this keeps growing but i can say with pretty much certainty now that it will be seven chapters
> 
> i hate handling long edits which is why I'm posting them separately
> 
> comments and kudos are lovely x

Loud.

 _Loud._ Adora’s not even hungover and it feels like someones got a jackhammer right up against her skull. Her spine is moaning because her bed’s little more than a thin cushion over a stiff, whicker frame and there’s fucking _noise_ coming from somewhere.

She blinks drowsily. Groaning as she forces herself upright, and identifying the source instantly, and if the look Adora sends is glowering, then Catra’s is downright _vengeful._

There’s a food blender out on the kitchen island, the violent whirling stops, and then Catra’s throwing raspberries into the mix like she has every intention of murdering them in cold blood.

She slams the lid down, pushing the button, all while maintaining cold eye contact. The sound is back then. And _fuck,_ if it’s annoying _her_ this early in the morning how is it not giving Catra a migraine? She’d been the one drinking herself stupid last night.

Adora waits, hoping that whatever shade of grouchy this is will be obliterated along with the contents of the smoothie, but Catra keeps the on-switch down excessively longer than necessary. Adora’s jaw tightens. _Why the hell is_ she _the one that gets to play all angry?_

Adora throws the blanket off her legs, and in an instant, she’s striding across the room, reaching over the opposite side of the island from Catra to yank the power cord out from the wall.

Adora asks gruffly, “are you done?”

“What. The fuck. Was _that_?” Catra says, it’s as harsh as nails on a chalkboard.

“What was _what_ , Catra?”

“Last night!” She snaps back, as though it should be obvious.

“Don’t you think _you’re_ the one who should be answering that, or did you miraculously forget _you_ were the one who kissed _me_?” Adora’s not even sure where this spark has come from, only that it’s a livewire burning through her veins and zipping through the air around them.

“Yeah.” Catra agrees, like Adora’s the one being an idiot, like Adora’s the one being _asinine_. “And you’re the one who fucking shoved me away like I was some unwanted thing.”

Adora pauses, the colour behind Catra’s eyes is all fury, but she wonders then, how much of this is actual anger, or just mistranslated rejection. “What were you expecting me to do, Catra? You were drunk. And I did not _shove_ you, stop being so dramatic.”

“God, I wasn’t _that_ drunk.” The heel of Catra’s palm presses into her forehead in exasperation, forcefully enough that Adora thinks it’s gonna leave a red mark.

“You were singing along to maroon five on the drive home!” Adora counters. “You hate them!”

“Okay!” Catra huffs, her hand falling, eyes burning holes in the ceiling. “So maybe I was a _tiny_ bit,” she’s gesturing a pinch in the air, “but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t in full control of what I was doing!”

Adora’s enraged, stepping around the island, “so… let me get this straight. You’re pissed at me. Because. I _didn’t_ take advantage of you last night?”

“No!”

“Then _what_ , Catra?” She’s trying not to yell, she really is.

“I’m pissed—” the breath she takes is stormy “—because you’ve been light-footing around this whole thing like you’re worried a bomb is gonna go off, so I decide maybe it will be easier for you if I’m the one to make the first move since you keep being such a goddamn chicken about it. And I’m left restless, waiting all week, and—okay, maybe get a little too tipsy as a consequence, but even when I’m practically offering myself up to you on a silver platter you’re still incapable of taking what it is you actually want!”

Adora’s eyes go wide, “you were _planning_ for it to happen?”

“Yes!” Apparently, it’s supposed to make sense now.

“WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?”

Catra’s stepping closer, accepting the challenge for what it's not. “That maybe you wouldn’t be such a goddamn wimp about it and that I might actually have a chance of being _ravished_ rather than the ‘don’t let the bedbugs bite’ bullshit, or whatever the fuck _that_ was. We shared a bed last week. How in hell did we manage to actually go _backwards?_ ”

Catra’s back slamming into the cabinets is the first thing that makes Adora realise she’s advancing into the other girl’s space.

"Stop. Catra, STOP IT!” It’s an accident, but she thinks it might be the first time she's ever used an alpha command. With an implant, Catra should hear it as nothing more than words, but she'll know, like the ripple of a pebble dropped into a tide pool, she'll know.

Her words aren't angry when she says, "did you just—?"

But Adora's are. "Catra, what the _hell_ are you doing?"

“I thought that was pretty obvious.” Her eyes are as dark as midnight, Adora thinks she witnesses her gulp lightly, as though it’s the first time either are acknowledging the full effect of their height difference now. “I don’t understand what it is you’ve been waiting for!”

Adora laughs, like it’s ludicrous. “Did you seriously believe that a week was gonna be long enough to fix all of this?”

Catra lets out this irate, desperate, huff. “What else was I supposed to do, I explained what happened, I told you everything—”

“And that was supposed to magically make it all okay?” Adora confronts, her voice rising octaves. “It’s been four goddamn years, Catra. What you did, it—” her voice is trembling now. “It _hurt_. _A lot_. And I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry about what happened to your mom, and I don’t blame you for needing time to heal from that. But, while it’s all _peachy and perfect_ for you that you’re apparently ready for us to move on as though nothing happened, I’m not—I’m not okay to be _okay_ about it yet.”

The energy in the room drops. Catra looks like she’s just been shot in the abdomen, her face just as bloodless. “I—I wasn’t…”

“Thinking? Yeah, that's pretty damn obvious.” Adora retreats, the air cooler now she’s not so close, and there’s a clarity in the absence.

Adora’s blood rushes with guilt. Not for what she’s said, but how she’d said it — maybe if only she’d been honest about this sooner, Catra might not have stung them both by being so forward.

And then, Catra says, unbearably genuine, “I’m—I’m sorry.”

But it’s still not enough; Adora still hasn’t placed all her pieces on the board, and this isn’t something she wants to discuss in anger. She sighs, “it’s—” _not fine,_ actually. “Do you need me to drive you home?” She doesn’t mean it to sound so dismissive.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to do that.” Catra’s knuckles are white where they grip the edge of the countertop, her attention stuck on the floor like she’s enthralled by the kitchen tiles.

“I’m heading into town anyway, I need to go to the hardware store for some stuff for the house,” Adora explains, her voice softer now. “I don’t mind.” She’s also worried about what they’ll both be left stewing in if they walk away from this right now.

“Could you drop me off at the studio?” It’s distant, and not just from Adora, it’s like Catra’s retreating into her own headspace and Adora can’t tell if what she’s found there is being kind or not.

“Sure.”

* * *

Catra’s tense the moment they get into the car. It’s not surprising, Adora thinks, she’s always been flighty, and this isn’t an environment she can duck out from without a few bruises and scuffed limbs. She has to ask anyway, “are you okay?”

“Yeah.” She replies, and Adora gets the impression that’s all the answer she’s getting, before, “there... aren’t a lot of people I trust driving besides Scorpia.”

“Oh.” Adora’s hands pause over the ignition. Noting, “you were alright last night.”

The corners of Catra’s eyes crinkle in the slightest grimace. “Drinking numbs it for a while.”

“Right.” _God, what a mood._ She’ll go slow, she decides. “Uh, I don’t actually know how to get there?”

Catra fishes through her pockets, finding her phone before setting up directions, snapping it in place within the holder mounted onto the dashboard. “Nice car by the way.”

“Thanks.” She hates that the awkwardness is back. “My dad bought one for each of us after we graduated.” Adam had asked for a specific make and model, Adora had just wanted something red.

“How are the old folks? Still filling up emotional holes by throwing money at you?” Catra seems to regret the jibe immediately.

Adora starts the car. “Kinda.”

* * *

Adora’s conflicted.

Road signs and junctions flit past, the navigation instructions the only thing breaking the silence in the car. Adam’s words are ringing through her mind still, because it almost _does_ sound selfish; she can’t believe what she went through could even compare to the dark hole Catra had probably been living in after what happened to Cyra.

But, regardless, Adora had spent the last four years unsettled by the very essence of who she was, all because of what Catra had said that day — and the endless silence that had followed.

Because, from the moment she’d presented, there had been one indisputable truth living in her mind.

Catra hates alphas.

And maybe she’s realising that was never true, or at least, not to the depth she’d assumed. But that doesn’t heal the years of that thought recklessly echoing around Adora’s head until it had snuggled itself like a parasite into the most nurturing parts of her being.

But now, Catra’s glancing at her from the passenger’s side in the corner of Adora’s vision, as though she’s anguishing over an apology without the building blocks to make one.

So… yeah.

She’s never been one for religion, but, _God, Grandma if you’re up there._

She needs to rip the bandaid off, but this might as well be duct tape as it starts to peel from her skin, and she can almost sympathise with why it had taken Catra four years to explain. But _fuck_ , how different things might have been if Catra had chosen to lean rather than pull away. Why hadn’t she—

It’s not Adora’s fault when it happens. She’s not allowing these thoughts to distract her limbs, but another car is suddenly cutting into their exit lane at the last minute, as though they’ve realised they’re heading in the wrong direction. Adora slams the breaks down to save her front bonnet from being rammed.

“Jackass.” Adora whispers under her breath as her foot releases the pedal.

It takes five heartbeats to recognise the thing radiating from Catra is pure, authentic panic. Her knuckles the colour of bone as they grip the door handle.

Adora’s eyes go wide. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

Catra shakes her head, it’s hard to discern _why_ exactly, maybe because she knows it wasn’t Adora’s fault, maybe because she’s trying to kick out whatever’s growing in tendrils inside her head right now. A beat passes, and Adora thinks this scent that’s filling the car might actually be terror.

Catra scrambling through her pockets then, her hands trembling as she grabs for her bag by her feet. But the whine she lets out tells Adora that she hasn’t managed to find whatever it is she’s looking for.

It’s a panic attack. That’s what’s happening. Adora’s never witnessed one from the outside but Catra’s emotions aren’t lying to her, and they’re strong enough that she might as well be experiencing a phantom version of it herself.

Adora pulls the car over as soon as it’s safe to. Yanking the handbrake on before she reaches one arm toward the storage compartment in front of Catra’s knees for the little orange vial she hopes still lives there. Her hand finds it, relief singing through her insides before she’s pushing it into the shaking hands in Catra’s lap. And shit, she’s pretty sure this is illegal. But she’s twisting around for the water bottle in the back before she can convince herself to care an inch about that.

Catra’s chest is heaving, staring dumbly at the prescription label and the unmistakable name that’s printed there.

“Take one,” Adora instructs as she passes the water, it’s too authoritative to be soft. “They’re a low dose but they’ll help.”

Catra does as she’s told.

They’re pulled up beside a near-empty park, Adora realises, unclipping her own seatbelt before she’s out and moving around to Catra’s door — because this car is not nearly enough room to breath.

She leads Catra by the hand to a bench nearby, there’s a plaque on the top beam of the backrest, she doesn’t stop to read it when she sits, facing Catra. “Hey, you’re okay, alright? What do you need me to do?”

Catra’s arms are immediately curling around Adora’s torso, which seems to be a decision based on pure instinct by the way she’s nuzzling into the crook of her neck, the omega’s heartbeat feeling like thunder against Adora’s chest.

Wind’s ruffling through the leaves of broad oak trees overhead, clouds gather like it’s going to be raining by lunchtime, and Adora holds Catra until her breathing turns steady again. A few, long minutes later.

“This isn’t just about the car, is it?” Adora inquires, gentle as anything.

Catra’s chest rises and falls before she says, simply, “no.” Adora waits. And after a slow moment more, Catra’s pulling herself away, her eyes stuck on the pill bottle she still has clutched in one hand. And then she’s asking, carefully, “why do you have these?”

“You want to take a wild guess?” It’s not unkind, but Catra winces anyway.

“When?” Her eyes are watery now. ‘Um, how long...?”

“First year. I kinda had a breakdown in the campus counsellors office and they referred me to a local psychiatrist.”

“Shit,” Catra sniffs heavily. “I thought—I thought you were okay. I thought you were gonna be okay.”

Adora frowns. “What exactly was it about my hundreds of voicemails that suggested any type of sanity to you?” Should she have broken down in tears through the phone? Would that have gotten the message across? “Or even the letters? Who sends one of those on an almost weekly basis for four years without it being a giant red sign of desperation?” She’d accepted Catra would never reply after the first few months. It became like the entries of a diary, and she’d progressively poured her heart out, barren and raw, onto every page - even past the point when she'd abandoned other methods of communication. Adora’s certain she’d left tear marks on a few. And other’s she’d never quite had the courage to send.

“What letters?” Catra’s looking straight at her, her cheeks turning pale - they’d been such a cute shade of pink before, Adora thinks. “Adora. What letters? What—?” She pauses, distressed. “We _moved_. Almost immediately after. We had to sell the house. I—” She’s worryingly close to trembling again. “I wouldn’t have gotten _any_ of them.”

It’s like a fraction of the mountain of rubble that lives there is shifting off Adora’s chest. “Oh.”

"And you stopped calling," Catra says, as though she’s still trying to justify herself with whatever she can find. "I—You stopped calling. I thought you were _okay_.”

“You never replied. I’d assumed you’d blocked my number!” Adora explains, and whatever weight’s been lifted is instantly replaced by grief.

They sit there like that for a moment, blinking at one another. And then, Catra continues, with a voice as unsure as when she’d shown up on Adora’s doorstep only a week ago. “You had _everything_ ahead of you. A family, a bunch of prestigious colleges practically begging for your registration, a dynamic that was gonna open all sorts of doors for you—”

“Catra. I had _nothing._ ” It’s anguish, this thing in her voice. “My family was thousands of miles away, Adam was busy across the country making new friends. I had _nobody._ And I was so stressed trying to keep my grades up so I wouldn’t get kicked off my course for not meeting expectations that I hardly had any time to fix that even if I _had_ known how. And you—You can’t _seriously_ still hold a grudge about me being an alpha?” Adora asks, she thought this of all things would have clicked by now. “You think just because it was what _you_ wanted, that I wasn’t capable of being upset — wasn’t _justified_ in being upset, that it wasn’t what I’d expected?" One of Adora's eyebrows raises. "And then you came along and shattered what little self-confidence I’d built for myself since presenting, before disappearing on me with zero explanation. And all that followed by four years of me thinking, obviously, you hated me, because—” She stops.

Catra’s white as a ghost. “You thought…?” she stumbles, wide-eyed. “Fuck. You thought I…?”

“How could I not?” Adora shrugs helplessly. “That fight out on the front yard was all you left me with, Catra. What else was I supposed to think?”

“But, I was being an idiot, I—” And there she is again, drifting away and back into herself like a feather caught in a storm wind. Adora squeezes Catra’s hand. She hadn’t even been conscious of when she’d taken it, but it brings her friend’s attention back to her. “I have been a colossal ass,” she’s staring down at their hands now, as though almost surprised to find them there. “I just… wanted things to go back to how they were. Before.”

“And you really thought a one night stand was the way to do that?” Adora’s laughing to try to soften the blow. It gets nowhere. She thinks she feels Catra tense to pull her hand away, but then it stays.

"God, I'm so sorry." Catra groans into her free hand. "I can't believe I did that. I’m so, so sorry — for all of it."

“It’s—” _getting there_ , Adora thinks. “Things won’t ever go back to how they were before, not exactly — too much has happened. But. Maybe. We can try just learning how to be friends again?”

“Friends. Yeah, I’d like that.” Catra nods, her heartbeat steadier now. She catches a few tears on her sleeve, noticing for the first time that they’d escaped. “Thanks for looking after me.”

Adora’s entire demeanour softens then. Before she’s promising, though it comes out so quiet she might as well be saying it to herself, “always.”

* * *

Adora’s proven right. It’s _not_ the same between them now; it’s three junctions early and fifty miles west of where they used to be. They can’t slip into old habits, they don’t exist anymore, they’ve been buried. But, she thinks they’re building new ones.

Now, she knows Catra will always text back a reply - that she doesn’t have to endlessly and hopelessly wait for them. They feel different now though, reserved, cautious.

They meet up a couple of times a week. And when they walk, with Swifty in step between them, Catra’s always more than an arm’s reach away.

But Adora’s alright.

And it’s as though someone’s released that little bird from Lower Pomerania, that it's somehow found its way to her. But this mountain on her chest was never made of diamond, and she feels it wearing, day by day, as she learns to breathe without it.

And too soon, August’s fading like fond memories.

* * *

Adora stands outside her grandmother’s bedroom. She hasn’t been in here yet. She’s not sure her feet will let her.

There are so few items left on her list to do here, but this door stands unopened, and there’s a whole lifetime of things to sort through behind it that might end up breaking her heart.

Her phone’s buzzing.

Incoming video call: Adam

Adora thumbs the green answer button, “jeez, you a mind reader now or something?” She can only see one half of his face, he must be holding the screen all wonky.

_“What?”_

Adora signs, “nothing, I was just having a moment.”

 _“What sort of moment, everything’s still going okay with Catra, right?”_ He sounds concerned, bless him.

“Yeah. No, it’s nothing like that. I’m just facing the fact I can’t ignore Grandma’s room for much longer.” This is a good enough excuse though. “Anyway, what's up?”

 _“Oh, uh, yeah — so, I might… have some news.”_ Stuttering isn't like him, she’s not sure she likes this.

Adora finds her way to the living room, sitting. “This gonna be twenty questions or are you actually going to tell me any time soon?”

 _“I don’t know, still debating. Where’s my dog at?”_ Swift’s already tottering over at the sound of Adam’s voice. Adora pans the camera around, and instantly, _“hi, buddy!”_ The collie's nose is so far into the screen she thinks all Adam will hear is a series of loud, puppy breathes as though he’s sniffing right against his ear. _“Do you miss me?”_

“I think he’s about ready to come home.” Adora tells him.

 _“Yeah? And what about you?”_ She turns the camera back around then, Swifty jumps up on the seat beside her, draping his front legs over her lap.

Adora answers with silence. But there’s nothing lost in translation there, as she chooses instead to play with the dog’s ears. Then, “so... what’s your news?”

 _“Right.”_ He takes a deep breath. _“Uh, so...”_ But he’s grinning, she can see he’s grinning.

“Adam?”

And then, as though it’s the most casual thing in the world, he’s announcing, _“me and Teela exchanged mating bites yesterday.”_

Adora blinks, stupefied for a second. “You _what_?”

_“We’re bonded!”_

She’s never witnessed a smile so contagious. “I’m so happy for both of you!” She reckons she might actually need a vaccine to make it disappear from her face. “Have you told mom and dad yet?”

 _“God no, in what universe would I not tell_ you _first?”_ He’s beaming all the way to his eyes, and she wishes then that she could be there to hug him. Because he might as well have just told her she has a sister-in-law now. Maybe they’ll marry too. But it hardly seems to matter when more and more people nowadays are ditching the legalities and commercialisms of signatures on a piece of paper, and just sticking to what is already an intrinsic and astonishingly intimate connection.

“What’s it like?” She asks, a little bit whimsically. “Being bonded to someone?”

Adam hums, tilting his head, _“I don’t know, it kinda just feels like she’s my person, and that that’s just been confirmed and amplified into the wider universe. It_ was _weird heading off to work this morning though. I just want to be with her_ all _the time now, it felt like someone was ripping my soul out through my ribcage as I drove away. But everyone says that’s normal for the first few weeks.”_

She nods. And the connection’s supposed to be less intense between betas, strongest between alphas and omegas. Adora’s a little bit terrified of it, honestly. Attachment in it’s deepest and most volatile form. The power it has to break a person, where anything to go disastrously wrong.

Adora centre’s her attention fussing over her fingernails for a moment, Adam must notice.

 _“Hey,”_ he says, softer. _“Do you want help with grandma’s room? I can stay on the phone, maybe? Walk in with you.”_

“Thank you.” _She loves him. And she’s so ridiculously happy for them._ “Yeah, that would really help, actually.”

_“Alright, Swifty, you’re on guard duty in case she stumbles across any skeletons in the closet.”_

The dog follows at her heels, curious as to where they’re headed. Until she’s standing outside the bedroom and the palpitations begin again in her chest. “Now what?” She asks.

_“Well, I would assume opening the door would be a good starting point.”_

“Right.” Adora places her hand around the metal handle, it’s cool against her palm. And then she twists, the door’s creaking open. And she steps inside.

Adora doesn’t know why she expected it to be dark in here; the curtains are drawn, but they’re mostly lace and the sunlight’s falling through like a consolation.

_“You okay?”_

She nods, even though he’s probably only seeing the floor through her camera now. “Yeah. No, I think I’m good. I can do this.” She replies, propping her phone up against a paperweight on an old bookshelf so Adam can look around.

But Adora was wrong, she realises, it’s not a whole lifetime of _things_ , it’s a lifetime of memories. And when she steps toward the dresser that’s riddled with photo frames, her whole childhood is staring back at her.

No wonder she’d never found any around the rest of the house, they’d all been in here, hidden in the room she’d never considered worth exploring as a kid. She hadn’t even known they’d existed.

Her and Adam, asleep against the sheets of someone’s bed - maybe just a few months old, and she can’t even tell them apart, honestly. But Ma Razz could have.

Another. A blonde-haired toddler being helped to walk down the beach by their Grandpa holding their hands, she _thinks_ it’s Adam. And the smile on his little face reminds her of the reason angels were historically drawn as infants. But it suddenly doesn’t matter.

They're on the beach, fifteen maybe, Adora doesn’t even remember this being taken. Catra's reclining on her front, perching on her forearms, Adora cross-legged beside her and adding a shell to the sandcastle she's making. But that's all the background. Because the focal point, the pinnacle, the thing she can't look away from - is the way Catra's gazing at her.

It's smitten. But like, so _, so_ much more. There’s not even anything subtle about it.

It’s right fucking there. In her eyes, her smile, the way she’s looking at her as though nothing else in the world really matters, but also, like she’s aware she’s going unnoticed.

And it’s sitting centrally on her Grandmother’s bedroom dresser.

She thinks then, that maybe Razz figured this out even long before Adora did, and honestly, it looks a hell of a lot stronger than just the _biggest_ _fucking crush._ But perhaps, she wonders, Adora hadn’t been the only one lying.

* * *

Fall arrives sharp and windswept.

Adora’s phone chimes with a message from Catra while she’s busy in the middle of agonising over job listings — she has two different tabs open on her laptop, one for here, one for home.

It’s not helping a decision.

Today, 11:27 AM

Catra: trapta asked me to ask you for your thesis

Adora: Oh yeah, sorry I’d forgotten about that

[You sent an attachment.]

Catra: ty

Adora: What are doing today?

Catra: [Sent a photo.]

Dont think ive done hand painting since i was in preschool

Adora: Where are you, that doesn’t look like the studio?

Catra: a preschool

Adora: I bet you’re loving that

Catra: its not so bad

wyut

Adora: Job applications

Catra: the joys

what can you even do with a qualification in primitive europeans?

Adora: Cry mostly

I could do archivist/curator stuff i guess

Catra: sounds dusty

what do you actually want to do tho

Adora pauses, chewing on her lower lip for a minute, her fingers hovering over the screen.

Today, 11:29 AM

Adora: I want to be a writer

I know that’s not really very alpha-y of me

Catra’s not replying, and staring at ‘ _message sent’_ is making her tingle with nerves, so she closes the chat on her laptop.

The notification buzzes through on her phone ten minutes later.

Today, 11:40 AM

Catra: sry i was reading

then you should do that

and why does it need to be alpha-y if thats not something you want

The smile on Adora’s face might be a little bit stupid, but whatever. She’s not sure if that was an intentional callback on Catra’s part, but she decides it doesn't matter.

Today, 11:41 AM

Catra: what sort of stuff do u want to write?

history?

Adora: Fantasy i guess?

But it's probably super ridiculous

Seems silly to throw away four years of education

There's a few assistant museum positions available back home

I should just do that

Today, 11:57 AM

Catra: sure

Catra’s quiet then. But Adora doesn’t blame her, she actually has a job to be doing right now unlike _someone._ Hence, the situation.

She throws out a few applications through the internet. None that she’s particularly invested in, but one catches her eye, for a fleeting, daring moment.

There’s a publishing house nearby. Here. Looking to replace an experienced editor, and she knows, she’s not stupid, _she knows_ she’s spectacularly underqualified for it, she thinks she might even fail every single one of their bullet-pointed requirements.

But she sends her cv anyway. Two days later. Because it takes her that long to determine it’s at least worth trying. Attaching a cover letter along with a few of the more creative projects she’d been involved with for one of her modules. Then, she closes her laptop. And accepts she’s probably never gonna hear back from them anyway.

* * *

Today, 6:58 PM

Glim: sup

hows things going with your girlfriend

Adora: She’s not my girlfriend

I asked you to stop calling her that

Glim: you shared a bed

Adora: So?

We did that every summer for seventeen years

Glim: that really doesn't support your case as much as you think it does

Adora: shut up

Glim: you kissed her back yet?

Adora: Of course not

Glim: maybe you should get on that

because i was thinking

have you actually given her any evidence that your feelings weren't just

like

historical?

Adora: I would have thought that wouldn’t require evidence

And things only just started not being awkward again

I don't want to mess that up

Glim: so what

you two go back to only seeing each other for a couple weeks every year

pretending everything’s a-okay

and I have to put up with you being miserable and lonely for the rest of my life

Adora: I thought you hated her only last month

Glim: ive come around

Adora: Why?

Glim: because she apologised

properly

and also because since you two have been talking again

you seem happier than ive seen you

since ever

and when you facetimed us the other day

i thought for a moment it was a clone of yours that had been stuffed full of sunshine or something

your eyes were practically *sparkling*

also

you're defo more tanned now

btw

Adora: Um

Thanks?

Glim: so

you gonna kiss her or what

Adora: I just

I don’t know if we’re gonna be compatible

In the long term

Glim: you serious rn?

you're an alpha...

she’s an omega

you both obviously have deep rooted and unresolved feelings for each other...

how much more compatible can you POSSIBLY get?

its like the universe is laying the stars down at your feet

you just gonna step over them like a crack in the pavement?

Adora feels a groan building in her chest. She gets why Glimmer is pushing this, and it’s a court case that’s been nagging at her mind since the day at the park.

Because.

That image Adam talked about? It’s painted in clear, bright colour now, and there’s so little of it she can’t still make out.

Adora's thirty-two, it's early summer, and they're out on the beach behind the house.

Her family is there. Glimmer, Bow and Adam and Teela too.

And Catra.

Catra’s there. Most importantly, Catra’s there.

Soft waves tumble onto warm sand around her ankles. There's a toddler or two smiling and building castles nearby — and she can't work out which is hers, but she decides that doesn't matter yet, because there's years to bring that part into focus.

She wants. She _wants,_ and it’s breathtaking _._ But it's all so cozy and it's hard to picture Catra wanting this too.

Today, 7:01 PM

Adora: I don't think she wants the same things I do

Glim: just a wild thought

have you considered

perhaps

FUCKING TALKING TO HER ABOUT IT?

Adora: What happened to not wanting me to relocate halfway across the country?

Today, 7:08 PM

Glim: I just want you to be happy.

* * *

[Scorpia's phone]

Today, 8:21 PM

[Unknown added you and Trapta to the group]

Unknown: Hi

Trapta: Hi!

Scorp: uh

hello?

Unknown: You're friends with Catra, right?

Trapta: Yep!

Scorp: i don't want to be rude

but do you mind telling us who you are?

Unknown: My name's Glimmer

I happen to be a friend of the disaster that is Adora Gray.

Scorp: oh! Hello, hi :)

Glimmer: I think we might be able to help each other.

Scorp: oh hang on

there's someone who's gonna want to get in on this

[Scorp added FlowerGirl to the group]

* * *

Catra shows up on Sunday.

Unexpectedly.

But the house isn’t a mess — it’s spotless, it's _show-home_ clean, and it’s a fact Catra seems to hone in on the second she walks through the door.

Because the house is fixed. The house is _finished_. But something’s still _not_ , and it’s a kind of fragile that Adora’s not ready to touch yet.

Catra’s barely glanced around the living room before she asks, "you're leaving?" Adora doesn’t disregard the way one of her hands is comforting over the hem of her hoodie sleeve.

"Uh, yeah," Adora replies, and it stings like guilt’s grown teeth. “I didn't think it was gonna be fair to keep Swifty ransom here for much longer."

"You didn't tell me." She sounds… not anxious, but jittery maybe. Cornered, Adora thinks — and it’s inexplicably making her want to punch a hole through the wall she’s spent the last month patching up.

"I wasn't sure how to, honestly," Adora explains, she _was_ getting round to it, slowly. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” She lets out this shaky laugh that seems to betray the fact that wasn’t true at all. “My friends are just batshit, you know?”

“Uh, sure.” She doesn’t feel the need to mention Glimmer. But Adora’s genuinely concerned that the threads of Catra’s sleeve are gonna fray beyond repair.

And then, Catra’s asking, so suddenly Adora’s left unbalanced by the forwardness of it, “did you mean it?” Catra’s watching her, and Adora’s feet shift under the weight of the attention. “Did you mean it when you said you’d been in love with me back when we were kids?”

Adora blinks, suddenly very still. "Of course." _Why would I lie about something like that?_

Catra stuffs both hands in her pockets like she’s intending to hide them. "And, uh, what day are you leaving?"

"Tuesday." Adora thinks she might have answered that a little too fast. She’s also pretty certain that was the wrong thing to say because Catra’s nodding like she’s just resigned herself to something that, while not painful, isn’t exactly gonna be super comfy either.

"Right." Sad is too strong a word, it’s doleful, but Adora remembers this side of her from the end of every summer. This is normal. This is _distressing_. "When will you be back?"

"I—I don't know." She hasn’t handed the keys over to any realtors yet. She’s looked into it, even allowed one of them to poke around the house, but she thinks she can understand Catra’s sentiment from before. Because, if she’s being honest, she’d had to stifle the urge to growl for the whole twenty minutes they’d been here without the courtesy to remove their shoes.

“Okay.” Catra’s nodding, and Adora thinks she’s made the same conclusion Adora had; that saying goodbye doesn't have to be any different from how it used to be, that this can be fine, that this can be familiar. “Do you want to go get coffee? Or something?”

“I’d love to.”

* * *

There’s a disagreement happening within Adora’s memories.

Because, if ever there was a week of any summer to dislike, it was always the _last_. Her parents impending arrival, the threat of being dragged back to the city and knowing she’d be stuck waiting and impatient to return to where she actually wanted to be.

Like how Mondays turn the weekend bitter without even trying.

But. When asked for her _favourite_ , she’d still maintain the exact same answer. Because people’s behaviour shifts when they realise they’re running out of time. Out of days, out of hours. They start being more careful, start making the most of it, start trying to grip on just that little bit tighter before it runs through their fingers like sand.

But hourglasses exist for a reason. And there’s nothing on earth more endlessly dependable than gravity and time.

Despite it, surrounded by the smell of burnt coffee while sitting at a table in a nook near the window, sunlight streaming in, and Catra smiling like she’s just happy to be soaking in the last traces of them. This is nice, this is easy. And if Adora has to leave it behind, even just temporarily, Adora's glad it's like this.

The air is cold when they step outside, the green of the trees are turning the colour of sunset, and it’s the first glance Adora’s had of how this place exists in seasons she’s never seen here.

It’s beautiful.

She watches as Catra glances at her phone, disregarding it into her pocket with a grumble of something she can’t make out.

“What was it your friends were being batshit about?” Adora asks.

Catra’s eyes glance up to hers, the afternoon light catching the colours like how the ocean sometimes dances with sunbeams. It’s weird, that fact Adora’s never really noticed — how they’re both the blue of the waves and the gold of the beach. How it feels like she’s looking at home.

“It’s nothing.” Catra shakes her head dismissively. “But, uh, I was wondering if you’d come see mom with me? It’s nearby. Razz is there too, and your grandpa. You could say hi?”

 _Good lord, that sounds horrendous._ “Sure.”

* * *

Adora hasn't been here since the funeral. Can you blame her? She’s not convinced which out of an empty bedroom, or their shared gravestone, is actually worse to be standing in front of.

Adora sits, the grass is still dewy underneath her. Catra’s the other side of the cemetery — she didn’t think that was a conversation she should intrude on, and she has her own things she needs to say.

“Hey, Grandma,” Adora’s been hacking at her nails, she notices. “Sorry I haven’t visited sooner. But honestly, I feel like if you’re gonna hear me, it’s more likely to happen back at the house.” She tugs a few blades of grass up instead, letting it fall onto her shoe in clumps. “I found that old photo on your dresser. I just—Sorry, I don’t really know what I’m doing here.” The sigh inflates her whole rib cage. “But, did you—Did you know? Back then? That’s probably a pretty stupid thing to ask considering you can’t actually reply, but I don’t know, maybe you already have.” _I should have just bought flowers or something._ "I guess I mostly just wanted to say thank you, for the house, for bringing me back here. I promise I'm gonna take care of everything. And I—I miss you." Her eyes find Catra then, over a garden of headstones and wilting flowers, and her tone turns a little bit desperate, “but, god, Grandma, I _really_ don’t know what I’m doing.”

* * *

The car's quiet.

Adora's fingernails drum absentmindedly over the faux-leather of the steering wheel, it's getting notably worse the closer they get to Catra's house — it's not far enough away now.

_Maybe I should take a wrong turn, that won't be suspicious at all, it's not like I've already driven over here a bunch of—_

"I'm going to miss you." It's not very distinguishable, and Catra's staring out the window when she says it. Her eyes are dry when they meet Adora’s, but her smile’s sad.

"I'm going to miss you too." _So, so much_.

They're here now, she realises, pulling up beside the driveway. It's a little place, cozy — somewhere her and Rogelio have been sharing since their family became just the two of them.

"This doesn't have to be goodbye though," Adora says, soft. "I still have a few more days."

"No, I think this is probably better. Leave it on a good note before I go and screw it up again, right?" Catra's unclipping her seatbelt, a moment away from unlocking the door before she turns to face Adora again, and for a few seconds, she thinks Catra has more to say. Instead, and it stops her heart dead in her chest, Catra's leaning forward, and pressing a kiss against Adora's cheek. "See you next summer, I guess."

Then, she's gone.

Adora has to remind herself they'd been doing this for seventeen years, that this is fine, that she can handle it — but those last grains of sand have just slipped through her fingers and this thing burying itself in her chest feels like a broad sword.

Slowly, Adora starts up the car again.

* * *

[Scorpia's phone]

Today, 9:53 AM

Scorp: hey you!

how did it go with Adora yesterday??

:)

Catra: it didn’t

Scorp: why not?

Catra: because

i don’t think Adora wants me the way I want her

not anymore

Scorp: what makes you think that?

Catra: because she would stay if she did

Scorp: oh wildcat :(

im sorry

* * *

[Scorpia's phone]

Today, 9:55 AM

Scorp: i normally hate doing this but i feel like its for a good cause

[You sent a screenshot.]

:(

Glimmer: theyre so fckn stupid i swear to god

FlowerGirl: What’s our plan b?

* * *

Adora feels hollow. Empty. Like one of those Russian nesting dolls when you’ve lost all the smaller pieces that are supposed to fit inside. That pain in her chest? It's numb now, because her heart’s gone, she'd left it behind a few hundred miles and eight hours ago.

 _Jesus._ Had she really spent four years living like this?

But the bandaid always stings the most the second after its been ripped away, and she thinks she can learn to again.

She's parked outside her brother's driveway, the car in neutral, engine still on.

It’s not Tuesday, It’s Monday; she’d realised after Catra said goodbye that there was really no more reason to stay.

The suitcases are shoved in the back and Swifty’s sat upright, staring out the window like he knows exactly where he is, and can't work out why Adora's not as excited about it as he is.

Adora takes a few deep breaths.

And then, she's letting the engine die.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone who's been just about tolerating the a/b/o aspect of this should probably duck out now, lmao, it's about to get VERY smutty.

There’s something unmistakably fractured in Adam’s smile as he opens the door. Adora doesn’t miss it, _can’t_ miss it, but Swifty’s creating all the diversion she needs - his claws skittering over the floorboards of the entryway in a happy dance. His whole body wiggling along with his tail.

“Sup, maniac?” Adam kneels to greet him, grinning as the collie attempts to lick every inch of his face. “You have a nice time babysitting my sister?” His smile is a little more honest when he, then, verbally acknowledges said sister. “You doing okay?”

Adora thinks probably, adamantly _no_ , but instead, she’s saying, “could I crash here for the night? I forgot to tell mom I’d be arriving a day early, and honestly, I don’t think I’m prepared just yet to have to listen to her being petty about the house.”

“Sure.” Adam agrees, his tone all kinds of sympathetic that she doesn’t need right now (maybe she does, actually). “Teela hasn’t seen you in forever, I’m sure she’d be ecstatic. I can get the spare room set up if you want?”

Adora blinks at him, and it’s almost like she’s suddenly observing her brother underwater, with salt stinging at her eyes and making the image blurry.

 _Want_.

The concept seems like something that’s never belonged to her. Something she’d bundled up in old newspaper and packing-peanuts and shoved to the back of a damp attic years ago. Forgotten. Or, at least, _ignored._

 _Want._ What the fuck does that even feel like?

She’d had tastes of it, mere crumbs — but anything perilous, anything _real_ , had been shut down before it could start hurting.

Because, lying to yourself about being content with the absence of something is far easier, she knows, than acknowledging the need is _burning_ you up from the inside.

“Um.” _Want_. What do you _want_ , Adora? “I, I want to...” But that answer has been immutable for as long as she could remember, every heartbeat that she wasn’t there already, Adora had spent bargaining with the universe for the summer to arrive just that little bit faster, that little bit sooner, so that she could finally, _finally_ , “go back home.”

Adam cocks his head, puzzling at her; she thinks she sees where Swifty gets it. “Uh, I thought you said you didn’t want to see mom...?”

“No.” Adora shakes her head decidedly. “I want to go back _home_.”

What life here had she been so terrified of uprooting? When any that existed were loose tendrils desperately grasping onto a craggy and barren rock face. Ready to blow away with the slightest rush of wind.

And what she wants, what she _fucking wants_ — and it’s a tidal wave when she finally liberates it, is held behind a decision that could be _oh so easy_ and the key that’s stashed amongst others on a metal chain in her hand. Literally. The. Key. To never again having to leave everything she’s spent her whole life wanting, is _her fucking hand._

“I want to go home.” She whispers, like it’s a revelation. And it feels as though it's the only thing that’s true. Or, simply, the only honest thing that matters amongst the expanse of the entire cosmos right now. And she'd been scared, restrained, but all those little things in the background of the dream she's painted for herself are mere moons and planets orbiting around the sun that is Catra.

_Because Catra’s there._

_Most importantly, Catra’s there._

Adam’s beaming at her like he agrees. And then, the expression wavers, because Adora’s making a harebrained beeline straight back toward her car.

“Jesus. _Now_ , now?” He follows, as if he’s feeling every ounce of nerves and vehemence that she is, but trying, uncharacteristically, to be level headed about it. “You literally just got here, don’t you think maybe you could wait till tomorrow? Rest up a bit?”

“No.” _Don’t be ludicrous, Adam._

Everything’s still in the car that needs to be, she’d headed off early that morning, so if she’s impolite about it, she could feasibly be back before it's formally _tomorrow._

And she’s had.

Enough.

Of waiting.

The driver-side door clicks open, and, so fast it’s as though she’s in a fever dream, she’s sat with keys in the ignition, twisting, and Adam’s going wide-eyed when he recognises she’s as determined as the vehicle that’s roaring to life.

“Christ. Okay, can you at least wait a minute—” He dashes back into the house, Swifty bounding along beside his ankles.

Her brother’s got enough energy drinks to fuel a _god_ when he returns, circling around the car before he’s dumping them onto the polyester of the passenger seat. “Try not to die, or get a million speeding tickets. But, uh, good luck, I guess?”

She feels jittery all the way down to her fingernails, she doesn’t think she’ll need the caffeine. “I love you, Adam, you know that right?”

“Of course I do, you moron, I’m not the one that needs to hear it.” His grin could rival the first glint of rising sun after an arctic winter. It feels just as brilliant. Just as hopeful. “Now, go get her.”

* * *

The dashboard informs her that Glimmer's calling.

The name flashes over the screen, and it’s uncomfortable given how cavernously lightless it is outside, and the fact that Adora’s eyes _sting._ It’s not tired exactly, more like she’s had enough of keeping her attention fixated through the windscreen on the round ahead — she’d read something about eye fatigue once, how the muscles can get tired just like every other part of your body, but hey, the stars are out, and they always are here, so bright and radiant and _spectacular_ , like they’ll only shine for you properly if you take the time to come out and find them—

Glimmer’s name disappears. Whops. She’d forgotten to pick up.

She accepts immediately the next time. “Hi, hey.”

The number on the clock is digging late into the evening, Adora's been driving close to fifteen hours today but she's never felt more wide awake. Which, yeah, might be contradictory - and maybe just a taste of insanity. Whatever.

“You good?” Adora asks.

 _“Shit, sorry, were you not awake?”_ Glimmer says in a rush, _“I forget sometimes that you have the sleep schedule of an eighty-year-old.”_

“Okay, ten am is not _that_ early,” Adora protests, and it’s healthy, alright, it’s _self-prescribed_.

 _“Alright,_ grandma _.”_

“But whatever, yes, I’m awake,” Adora confirms. “What’s happening?”

 _“What’s happening? What’s_ not _happening? Adora, where the_ fuck _are you?”_ It’s weird, now, that Adora’s pretty certain there’s noise coming from Glimmer’s side that sounds as though she’s got a second line open with, like, _a lot_ of other voices.

“Uh, fifty miles out?” Adora frowns, she catches ‘ _gone to the house’_ and ‘ _empty_ ’ but it’s like searching for a raindrop after it’s fallen and lost to the ocean.

 _“Shit. You actually_ have _left already?”_ Her friend’s voice is suddenly pulling further away from the microphone.

“Glimmer, who on earth are you talking to?”

Something muffled, and then, _“that doesn’t matter. Look, listen to me, Adora, you have to go back!”_ She sounds _thrilled_ , like this is the most entertaining thing that’s happened in months, years even. _“You’re not that far away, you could just turn around, take the next slip road off, do a goddamn u-turn on the highway if you have to, but you have to go back!”_

“Glimmer—”

_“I’m serious! I’m not just going to let you walk away from this while the love of your fucking life has been standing on your doorstep and you’re weren’t even there to witness it happening!”_

_Catra’s at the house?_ “Glimmer, I’m—”

 _“What were you_ thinking _? Have you never actually read a romance novel, like, at all? You can’t just tell someone the specific day you’re leaving and then disappear before they’ve even had the chance to—”_

“Glimmer!” Adora’s chest is a stampede. “I’m fifty miles out. _Westbound._ I’m already on my way. I’ve already _turned back_.”

A beat passes.

 _“...oh.”_ Glimmer doesn’t sound disappointed, maybe just a pinch from having her passionate monologue interrupted, but mostly she’s _thrown_. As if she genuinely didn’t believe Adora was capable of making this decision herself.

That might be justified. Adora’s still glowering though. And the muted voices that she can only assume are emitting from Glimmer’s laptop _detonate_ , like the audible version of that time Swifty had once tried digging up an ants nest.

She thinks, when she squints — which doesn’t actually help attune her hearing at all, that she can make out Scorpia’s voice, Perfuman’s too, a few others, and maybe even… _good lord_ , is that DT? But Catra’s not there, she’d be able to pick her up in a heartbeat. “Glimmer, what the hell is going on?”

 _“Uh... nothing.”_ Sheepish. Her tone is a whole lot _sheepish. “I guess you two didn’t need mission control after all. We’ll just, uh, leave you guys to it.”_

“Wait! Hang on a minute,” she objects. “Has anyone told Catra I’m on my way?”

 _“No, I don’t—I don’t think so.”_ Glimmer’s already distant. Then, Adora hears the scuffle of an argument, which she thinks only comes across as hushed because it’s nowhere near her ear. It stills, and Glimmer’s promising, “ _she doesn’t know, we’re not going to tell her. Scorpia’s insisting we leave that for you.”_

“Right, okay. Cool. Peachy.”

 _“Hey, don’t freak out.”_ Glimmer reassures, it sounds like she’s smiling. _“You’ve got this.”_

* * *

Rogelio answers the door. Of course he does.

And it’s so painfully familiar that Adora’s stuttering out a, “hi,” she hopes she doesn’t look frazzled right now, but that’s probably unavoidable at this point.

“Hi…” He’s hesitating. Surprise written all over his face, which tells her immediately that Glimmer’s conspiring had not yet spread here. Whether that’s a positive or not has yet to be seen, but Scorpia had _promised_ she’d find Catra here.

“Will she let me talk to her?” Adora asks, pleads. While bracing her whole body for a reply of ‘ _Catra’s not here right now,’_ she’s ready, she can handle it. But he’s got the door wide open behind him, and she can smell something in the air of the hallway that’s warm with rosemary — she assumes a dinner that’s already been and gone.

And Rogelio’s not standing vigilant; he’s suppressing a smile. “Convenient,” the grin he flashes is toothy. “I was just on my way to the bar, probably won’t be back till closing.” Reaching for a set of keys, his voice gentle now. “But tread lightly, yeah? She’s a bit, uh... I guess you’ll see.”

Adora’s forehead creases into the slightest frown, “uh, thank you.”

He gives a mock salute as he departs, his feet taking him toward the beaten old truck stationed on the driveway. Leaving her with a gesture that translates easily to ‘Catra’s in her room.’

And then, Adora’s lingering with nothing but her own apprehension blocking her from entering the house. It’s not a thick wall of it. And if she’s being honest, it’s like she’s spent years struggling to sail _against_ the wind without even being aware of the fact she was, and now it’s finally behind her, the sails are taut, and she’s _flying._

Adora steps inside, closing the door noiselessly as she does. The day had been cold, and the evening as frostbitten as October gets, but the house is toasty, and she knows that’s probably Catra meddling with the thermostat because she starts shivering at the slightest chill. It’s new information — she’s been learning, storing these little snippets away. Because watching Catra under the light and the colours of fall is such a different experience to everything she knows.

And it’s enlightening, Adora’s found, to meet people again once the showcase of summer disappears, and everyone falls with the leaves back to what's cozy. Back to what _matters_.

This house isn’t unknown to Adora, she’s been here a few times, but not enough to make this _new_ turn _normal_ , but she knows Catra’s room. Knows that she doesn’t often leave it locked up.

Adora rests her forehead against the door. Breathing in to calm the trembling in her hands, before she raps her knuckles delicately against the wood.

“Catra?” And it’s all she needs, because she knows just the presence of her voice will say everything she requires it to.

The hallway seemed quiet before, but then the world’s turning _silent_ , and Adora has a suspicion she’d been listening to the faintest sound of sniffing before she’d knocked, but it’s dead now. A moment passes, and her heart is dormant in her chest.

Footsteps.

And then the door’s swinging wide open.

Catra’s been crying, the rivers down her flushed cheeks and the deep-set red in her eyes are no lie. But it’s all kindling burning away to the bonfire that is _hope_ lighting up her expression. Tentative. But there, in the very back of her eyes.

“What are you—What are you doing here?” She’s choking on it a bit, as if she’d discovered her voice more hoarse than she’d anticipated, rubbing the damp from her face with the sleeve of her hoodie as though she’s pretending it’s not there. “I thought you’d gone, the house, it was empty, I thought you’d—”

“I came back,” Adora says, soft as a vow. “I came back, I couldn’t—” Her eyes take note of the room behind Catra then, absentmindedly, until it floods her entire thought process.

It’s dark, Catra’s pulled the curtains closed and there’s bedding _everywhere,_ but somehow it’s refrained from being messy and instead just looks like, “you’re nesting?”

Catra’s eyes instantly flicker away from where they’ve been holding Adora’s, not embarrassed, but a shade close to bashful. “I was sad, it, uh, it helps sometimes. It’s comforting.”

Adora would find it cute if she weren’t certain Catra had spent the last few hours in tears, and that it was primarily her fault. That Catra is _nesting_ because she’s _miserable_ and _-_

_Oh._

“Uh, is it alright that I’m here? I don’t want to be, I don’t know… invading?” Nests, she knows, are viscerally personal things. _Private_ things. And it is, at the very least, unfathomably rude to be so careless toward being unwelcome. She’d read once, for fun, about an omega in the fourteen hundreds that had torn off the leg of their spouse who had, uninvited, stepped foot inside their nest. And the courts even then had judged that _warranted._

For the dynamic stereotyped as the most docile, omegas could fight with a feral vengeance when pressed, when territorial, when _protective._

But, it’s also, and she’s very aware of this right now, the most open-hearted display of trust to be permitted to cross that threshold.

And Catra’s eyes are as warm as honey despite how wet they are, and she’s observing Adora like she should know, _she’s never needed an invitation_.

Adora feels a hand running through hers, patiently tugging her through the doorway. “It’s fine. You’re fine.”

The emphasis isn’t present on the _you’re,_ not audibly, but she can feel it in the way Catra’s holding her hand.

But then, the warmth of it is falling away, nervous.

“I went to the house,” Catra explains cautiously, standing immobile like she’s reminding herself not to push. “I’d convinced myself I wasn’t going to, and then I just started walking and I ended up on the beach out back and I couldn’t not try to...” She lets out a sound that’s something between an unsteady breath and a hiccup. “It was empty. You were gone.”

“Yeah.” _Catra came looking for me. Catracamelookingforme._ “I went home. I got all the way to Adam’s before I realised that’s not where I wanted to be.”

“You—?” Catra’s eyes expand unremittingly. “That’s like a seventeen-hour round trip, how the hell are you still awake?”

“I managed it in just under sixteen, actually, but if I’m being honest, not really sure that I am awake right now.” Adam had mentioned something about speeding, she thinks he’ll be forgiving.

“Shit.” Catra looks rightfully alarmed, like she wants to reach out, but _isn’t_. “Uh, you wanna sit down, or something?”

“That might be nice.” Adora’s pretty sure most of the dizziness rushing her head then has nothing to do with being tired and everything to do with the fact the only option for _sitting_ in here is Catra’s bed.

 _Catra’s bed_.

Ergo, the epicentre of this refuge of a nest she’s built for herself.

“Uh...” Adora stammers pathetically.

Catra sighs, it sounds _fond,_ amazingly. “I’ve already invited you in, you don’t have to keep being so… _virtuous_ about it.” She steps forward like she’s about to manually move Adora again, but then she’s pausing, “unless _you're_ uncomfortable here? We can go downstairs.”

“No, this is fine.” She’d likely be hyperventilating if she weren’t so dead on her feet. And then, she sits at the foot of the bed before Catra has the chance to touch her again.

The bedding and blankets are soft underneath her, she runs her fingers through it a little to give them something to do, and the whole room smells so indescribably like Catra that it’s _mesmerising._

Catra positions herself at her side, leaving a conscientious distance between them, her legs crossed and staring fixedly at her hands where they are messing with her hoodie sleeves. She’s swimming in it, Adora notices, it’s a little too small to have been stolen from Rogelio, but she wonders if it had once belonged to Cyra. It’s old and worn, and the thought makes moisture gather in the corners of her eyes.

“You came back.” It’s not a question, but Catra’s asking for an explanation regardless.

But although Adora understands it, _feels_ it, she hasn’t got the words just yet. So, she instead returns, “you went to the house.”

“Yep.” Catra says tensely. “I went to mine first, actually — the old one.” She runs her palms over her jeans, they must be clammy. “It’s a vacation home now, did you know that? Probably owned by some ass hat that leaves it gathering dust for most of the year.”

“I’m sorry.”

Catra shakes her head, dismissive. “It’s not your fault.” Adora reaches out to take hold of one of the hands in Catra’s lap, entwining their fingers. Her friend’s eyes meet hers. “I was searching for those letters you sent, like some... _hopeless_ thing.” She shrugs, watery-eyed, ‘it was pretty stupid to think they might still exist somewhere, but I needed to at least try.”

Adora thinks she knows the answer before she asks, “they’re gone?”

“Yeah,” Catra affirms, nodding slowly — but her expression’s turning just a fraction brighter, like it’s sunlight breaking through. “But then I realised it didn’t matter.” Adora frowns lightly, before Catra’s elaborating, “I read your thesis. I’d started the day you sent it over, but then I got intimidated by all the academic lingo and shit, so I dropped it. But Entrapta, she kept going on and on about it and I wanted to know what all the fuss was about.”

She feels Catra’s palm close around her hand, squeezing.

“Adora, it was really _fucking_ good.” A tiny smile. “I don’t even give a shit about history and I was _enthralled_. And it kinda felt like—I don’t know if this is _weird_ or not, or if it was ever your intention, but it felt like you’d written it for me? Or at least, me how I was that day that I called you up on the phone sobbing like my life was over — and then you went and wrote a giant fucking essay on why being an omega doesn’t restrict anyone from being a badass, and I just—” She gasps shakily, like to _not_ would leave her in tears again. Her hands, _two_ now, tighten around Adora’s. “And I just really fucking _love you_. And then you were gone. You left, and I didn’t have the chance to say it—”

“You love me?” Adora cuts in suddenly, watery. She’d been suspicious, obviously she had been, but to hear the confession out loud, in the air between them and _undeniable_ — it’s like she’s just ascended beyond cloud nine. Her chest letting out this stupid, sappy laugh. Then, "I love you too."

Catra's eyes are large, dark, but there’s something still reserved behind them. "Then why didn’t you stay?"

Adora swallows. "Because everything was still shifting between us. And I thought, perhaps, it would be better to come back to this once we were used to just being _us_ again, without everything being tainted by all the pain and misunderstanding." Adora hesitates, eyes falling down to their hands. "And I also thought, maybe, even once everything _had_ settled down, that the things we wanted weren't exactly… in the same boat? I guess?” It sounds silly now, Adora acknowledges, she’s already come to this conclusion and it’s released in a rush. “But I realised that it doesn't matter, I don't care about the rest of it. I just want to be with _you_."

Catra's silent, like she's content to be mellowing in everything Adora’s admitting. And then, a frown, "what do you mean ‘ _things_ not being in the same boat’?"

Adora shrugs, her cheeks colouring and clumsy. "Like, what we want for our futures, together, individually. But it's okay, I don't _need_ that—"

"Adora," Catra breaks her off, though not harshly. "Can you please stop being so cryptic and just tell me what on earth you’re talking about?"

Adora takes a wobbly breath before she concedes, "you don't want kids. And it's alright, it's _alright_ now, but I thought it wasn't for a while because I've always wanted a family, but I can recognise now that mostly what that meant was _you_.” _Most importantly, Catra’s there._ “I just—I just want _you._ "

Catra's watching, awestruck, her jaw lax like she's trying and failing to find something to say. And then, "so you decided, all by yourself, that I wouldn't want a family with you?”

Adora blinks. "No."

Catra's raising an eyebrow.

" _You_ said it.” Adora disputes, hope like a butterfly inside her chest. “You said you thought kids were gross, that you’d never... want them." That memory must be more vivid and forefront for Adora than it is for Catra, because it looks like she's fishing through memories tucked away in the back of her mind, before the other eyebrow follows the first.

"When we were, like, _twelve_?" Catra says. Incredulously.

"Thirteen..." Adora counters, but even her own ears hear how weak that sounds.

Then, Catra’s smiling, like she's found the concept genuinely entertaining. "You want to put a baby in me 'dora?" Eyebrows still raised, but — and Adora can't focus on anything else, _there's no grimace this time_. “I can’t believe you’re probably already planning how many kids we’re gonna have and you haven’t even kissed me yet.”

Adora's cheeks are flames.

The room turns quiet, suspense thick enough that it clouds her lungs as Adora releases the breath she’s been holding.

“I’m sorry for stealing the first one,” Catra says, remorseful, breathless, “but... could we maybe—” she’s shifting, and Adora doesn’t think it was her intention to move closer, but it _is_ a side effect. “Could we try again?”

Adora swallows, the heat in her cheeks dimming to a tone that’s unbearably happy. Whispering, because it’s all she can manage, “yes. _Yes_ , God, yes.”

Catra leans inward, and there’s nothing rushed about it this time, Adora mirroring with a pace that’s sending goosebumps down her arms, and she’s not sure how liable she is to the fact that while Catra’s eyes are watching her lips, Adora’s looking elsewhere, higher.

Adora’s palms relocate to hold around Catra’s face, the pads of her thumbs ghosting over the ridge of her jawline.

Catra’s rib cage goes motionless. Waiting.

And then, Adora presses her mouth against Catra’s cheek and the scattering of freckles there.

She feels it when Catra snorts, entirely playful when's she asks, "what the fuck was tha—"

But Adora’s interrupting by kissing her properly, and any jest on her tongue thaws in a heartbeat.

Catra's leaning into her and making this little noise as though she is, _she is_ , willingly handing over her whole soul. Like someone’s been drawing this whole thing out in the stars and she’s stealing that inkwell of moonlight and unreservedly, wholeheartedly, signing over her name in its entirety.

Hands tangle through the hair at the nape of her neck, a little disgruntled noise rumbling against her lips before Catra’s tugging the band loose, emitting a sound afterwards that Adora takes as meaning ‘ _that’s better_.’

And _yeah_ , Adora agrees. Because the fingers brushing over her scalp feel like heaven, and the angle’s changing, becoming aware of the fact Catra’s taller now, raised up on her knees atop the mattress, and is suddenly climbing into Adora’s lap.

Breaking, only for a second, so Catra can confirm, “okay?”

And then, Adora’s arms move to circle around Catra’s waist, her hands skirting, intentionally, _slowly_ , over the dip above her hip bones as they migrate. She revels in the way it makes Catra gasps faintly against her mouth.

“Yes. It’s okay." Adora confirms. "Everything’s okay.”

The grip _tugs_ around blonde waves as Catra pulls her in again. And _fuck_ , she’s drowning in this too, but in the best possible way. And it’s all desperate and needy, and _starved_.

One of Catra’s hands is sliding down from her shoulder, stilling over a clavicle, grasping a fist onto the material she finds there. Her body’s so close and like a furnace against Adora, and _shit_ , there’s a voice in her head, and not even a quiet one, asking why she hasn’t got the omega pinned underneath her yet, but she’s _not,_ she’s _not_ going to do that.

Any ambivalence as to Catra’s intentions are smothered the moment she presses her whole body closer, _closer_ , until she can practically feel the flutter of Catra's eyelids over her own face and every breath as her ribcage rises. And then Catra _rocks._

It’s alarming for two reasons, a; because Adora’s teeth immediately descend, but she doesn’t have to concern over Catra taking note because, b; she’s just retreated. Her eyebrows scrunched and looking down at their laps as though having found an unexpected absence of something.

_Huh._

That’s _mortifying,_ Adora decides. “It’s not there _all_ the time,” she’s explaining, the skin of her cheeks like stepping unexpectedly onto hot, scalding sand.

Catra tilts her head at her, eyes curious, _mischievous._ “How do we get it out?”

 _Jesus F. Christ._ A whine _very_ nearly slips out without Adora’s permission.

“We don’t have to—” Adora’s honest-to-god choking. “It’s okay we don’t have to use it if you don’t want to.”

“Why would I not want to?” Catra grins, all toothy like a cheshire cat. “It’s basically a built-in strap-on with more buttons, right?” Her lean arms hook over Adora’s shoulders then, purring into her ear. “Sounds de-fucking-lightful.”

Adora’s brows skyrocket. _Shit. They’re actually doing this then._

But there’s a tiny problem, even as Catra starts to kiss her again, slow and soft this time, because that voice in Adora’s head is still there, and she thinks it might actually be instinct — but it’s not all too happy that Catra’s on top of her right now, and she’s considering ways of enticing the omega to roll onto her back. But then, Catra’s smiling against her mouth like she’s trying not to laugh. It’s making it frustratingly difficult to kiss her.

“What?” Adora inquiries.

“Stop it.” Catra’s instructing, leaning away a little as though it’s a sanction, but the glint in her eye is all amused.

“Stop _what_?”

“ _That_ ,” Catra taps a finger against the spot directly between Adora’s collar bones, landing attention to the rumbling emanating from within. “Growling. Stop it.”

“Oh,” Adora grimaces lightly, “sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.”

“It’s fine,” Adora’s not sure that’s true though, because it comes out frustrated. “I just need you to be a little more aware of the effect you have on people. On _me_.” But then she’s catching a glint of Catra’s pupils, and how blown they are right now, and she wonders if maybe it’s not that kind of _frustrated._

But then, the heat of her body is pulling away completely and Adora actually does whine. An arm tightening around Catra’s waist to ask her, tell her, to stay.

It’s a little too late, the positions not right and Catra’s already off her lap now, but fingers are hooking into the waistband of her jeans and _pulling_ , “c’ mere,” which she thinks is unnecessary considering Catra’s face is still close enough that she feels the words, breathy and hot, against her cheek, and Catra’s _laying down_ , dragging Adora with her, _on top of her._

If the thoughts in her head were more coherent, she might be more aware of the fact that Catra’s smirk is announcing she’s unlikely to make it so easy for her next time.

But she doesn’t give a shit about that. Because Catra _wants_ her, _unreservedly,_ and her legs are opening so Adora can fit between them and they’re warm and hugging and when Adora kisses her this time, it’s _fierce_.

The noise Catra releases isn’t quite a sigh, isn’t quite a moan, it’s somewhere in the realms between while also not quite either. It’s _wonderful,_ regardless. And her limbs are turning to liquid when Adora, braced on a forearm, runs her free hand down from Catra’s knee toward where leg meets hip, fingernails dragging as they go. But all Adora can think, as Catra gasps needily against her lips, is; _too many clothes_ and _not enough skin._

She feels Catra’s hand curl back into her hair, and if she’s honest, Adora could stay exactly like this for a decade and class it as well spent time. And then, Adora moves a thumb. It’s distractingly, precariously, close to the juncture of Catra’s inner thigh now, and the body underneath her _shivers._

Adora pulls away, sitting up, basking for a second in the way Catra's trying to follow, pushing up onto her elbows. But Adora’s hands are adventuring through the buttons and restrictions of Catra’s jeans before grabbing the material at either side of her hips and _yanking._

They’re removed with enough force that her whole body slips toward Adora a few inches. The black of Catra’s eyes widening like she’s just concluded; maybe she won’t _need_ to make it easy for her next time.

“You good?”

Catra lets out this weak little humming noise in confirmation. Relaxing back into the cotton-down of the comforter, her chest rising visibly, before she’s composing herself and sending Adora a look she interprets as _come back to me._

Adora’s not going to dispute that, asking, while making it treacherous for Catra to answer as her mouth latches onto the spot where her jawline meets her neck, “have you done this before?”

Catra takes a moment, another, but the way she’s sighing indicates it’s mostly from brain fog and not because that’s an answer she doesn't want to give. And then, when she does reply, it's amazingly composed — as though she’s just had to practise it in her head a few times. “Is your brain constantly in the sixteen hundreds or something?”

Adora pulls away, Catra’s head rolling playfully to meet her gaze. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not going to hurt me.” Her voice rough, sultry. Hands bundled into Adora’s t-shirt, keenly aware of the fingers as they dance over her abdomen as though Catra’s demanding she not leave again. “It’s fine, I’ve done this before. With women, mostly other omegas — it’s safer, you know?”

“Yeah,” but all Adora can rationalise is that means Catra must feel safe with her too.

“You?” Catra request. “Please tell me you haven’t been celibate for the last four years.”

“ _No_...” And god, it’s such a fucking cliche, because it had been the complete opposite — that first year. She’d been trying to forget. Desperately. But she’d only ever ended up feeling traitorous afterwards, the emotion burning like a cattle brand.

“Good. Then we’re all good, yeah?” Catra attempts to encourage her into action again, tugging her down.

“Wait.” It makes Catra groan, her cheeks flushing with impatience. “You know this isn’t gonna be quite the same, Catra, I don’t want to—”

“Look, it’s fine, okay? You’re not gonna hurt me, and honestly, if I don’t get your dick inside me in the next ten minute I might end up chewing my own arm off and I can promise _that’s_ gonna be a hell of a lot more painful.”

Adora snorts. “Did no one ever teach you how to _wait_ for what you want?” She returns to Catra’s neck, teasing the blunt points of her teeth over the flesh there. “But I think I can work with ten minutes.” This confidence has, evidently, come from fucking nowhere, but she thinks it has a whole lot to do with what Catra’s just said and the way she’s breathing all funny, as though she knows, finally, that being _ravished_ is within reach.

Adora repositions, her palms smoothing over skin as they push the fabric of Catra’s hoodie up and over her waist to the lowest section of her sternum, lowering herself, and a second away from pressing her mouth against the bare skin of her navel, and she thinks she can actually hear Catra’s heart thumping, before, “wait!” She’s panting a bit, not enough to be worrying. “You—Too many clothes. Off. Take something off.”

Adora gets tangled a little as she removes and throws her t-shirt over her own head, but it’s not teasing, the expression she finds on Catra’s face after, it’s loose jawed, mouth-watering.

"Jesus," whispered. Catra's staring at her arms, sitting up and letting her touch move over the taut, ripped muscle of Adora’s biceps. "Did these come, like, preinstalled or are they all homemade?”

"Little bit of both?" _Alpha perks,_ and the way Catra's staring looks like _fascination_ , and Adora thinks she might be able to use that to her advantage.

She clasps a grip above Catra's hip then, eye contact sharp as a needle as she pushes backwards, prowls, until Catra's trapped underneath her again. And Catra just… let's it happen, revelling in it, almost doe-eyed from _want._

“Hi,” Adora breathes.

“Hey,” that toothy smirk is back. “You gonna mate with me or what?”

“I’m getting round to it.” Adora marvels, brushing the waterfall of blonde hair to one side of her own neck, before she’s kissing Catra again, her movement’s possessive, _primal._ Because, _Catra wants me. Catra wants me!_

Catra moans then, it’s as pretty as her singing. And Adora can feel every single one of the vibrations against her mouth, before she’s mercilessly dragging her teeth over Catra’s lower lip.

And then, Adora descends. Looping her fingers underneath Catra’s boy shorts before she’s shimmying them down her legs, pushing the material covering her stomach out of the way again so she can bite lightly at the flesh just to the side of Catra’s belly button. Understandably, her breathing hitches. Arm’s reaching above her head and tangling helplessly in the sheets and blankets there.

“We good?” Adora checks.

Eyes closed, her voice squeaks out a, “yes.”

Adora manipulates a lazy knee to hook over her shoulder, ghosting her breath above Catra’s skin as she moves lower, the hikes of her breath audible as Adora noses into her thighs. Leaving pink shadows with her teeth as she goes. Just enough to make Catra hiss faintly, but not want to nudge her away.

There’s no sudden moan, or thrill, when Adora finally presses her tongue against where Catra needs it. The omega’s breathing stops entirely. While Adora dances over her entrance, pressing friction into that delightful spot that teases for something _more_ , before venturing over sparking nerves that she knows will have Catra seeing pure colour. And then, in a rush, like she’s releasing what’s been withheld, the air leaves her lungs again. Adora feels Catra’s body ripple with it. The hand moving to fasten through Adora’s hair no distraction, it’s a plea to _please, please keep going._

Adora feels a heavy _tug_ between her own hips, inviting the sensation to grow within her as Catra’s sounds patiently turn lawless, heated.

Adora applies more weight, allowing the rumbling in her chest to start again. Catra shivers, her grasp tightening until Adora’s scalp _stings_ , groaning into the sensation before she’s guiding Catra’s hand away from the tresses, tangling the fingers within her own. Moving them both to Catra’s side so she can use that as an anchor instead. Adora needs to focus.

Despite the initial soundlessness, it doesn’t take long to get Catra all worked up and whimpering. Knuckles turning white where they’re latched onto Adora’s, shifting and writhing like she can’t keep herself still.

Catra’s head rolls to one side, biting down on the thickly sleeved arm she finds there. Adora _delights_ in it. Tilting her position just right so that rumbling from a crevice deep within her ribcage will connect like a live wire tapping into a circuit. Catra lets out a muffled whine when the vibrations roll through her clit.

_That’s no good._

Adora bites unforgivingly into the inside of the thigh weighted over her shoulder. Catra yelps under her breath. Now, staring at Adora like _I can’t believe you just did that._

“I want to hear you.” It’s an alpha command. Intentionally. And the flash of teeth she gets in return lets her know Catra has every intention of obeying.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Then, Adora returns to the job at hand, rolling her own hips against the mattress when Catra begins letting out this strangled keening sound with every exhale.

“Fuck,” Catra gasps, husky. “Inside. Adora, inside!”

She complies — two fingers slipping into the silky warmth beneath where her mouth is working, and _curling._ Pressure rough in all the right places, it’s barely a moment before Catra’s surrendering to this noise that Adora thinks might actually redefine why this was ever considered a sin. And it’s all for _her_ , all for Adora.

_Catra wants me._

Her heart is _singing._

Catra’s whining suddenly vanishes, like the recension of the tide before the crash of a wave, her whole body arching in a noiseless gasp.

And then.

The most unfathomably _unholy_ moan escapes Catra’s lungs as her whole body starts to tremble. Grip clamping down around Adora’s hand like a vice.

Catra’s not screaming her name, not shouting. It’s whispered — like she’s recovering from being winded. Over and over. As Adora races the aftershocks until Catra’s legs are tensing unbearably, and Adora eases off. Scattering kisses over every inch of skin in reach, atop the tremors in her legs, the soft flesh of her stomach, and the curve of her hips.

Until panting turns deep and slow.

“Good?” she smirks, finally.

Catra laughs, actually _laughs_ , and it has the whole room feeling like it’s basked in gold despite the dark and the shadows, the motion noticeably wobbling the bed frame. “Jesus Christ, Adora.”

She crawls up to settle back in the space above Catra, blinking down at the endlessly blissed-out look swimming behind the dark pupils that she finds there.

“Can I get into your pants now?” Catra leers, head cocked, her hands already moving to the buckles. Easily shifting them down around Adora’s hips, before she’s going wide-eyed at the bulge she finds there. “Whoa.”

“Don’t make a big deal about it,” Adora says, for maybe the first time, entirely unabashed. kicking her jeans off the rest of the way before she’s attacking Catra’s mouth with her own. Melting into it, fingers curling in hair. As Adora discreetly removes her underwear with one hand (attempts to, it happens awkwardly instead.) Catra doesn’t seem to care. “Green light still?”

“Absolutely,” Catra exhales against her mouth, grinning. “And I think you have about two minutes left, so kudos on that. And I really do need my arm for drawing so that’s probably—fuck,” she stutters frantically, swallowing, as Adora aligns herself with Catra’s entrance. “Probably for the, uh, for the best.”

She’s still in her hoodie, Catra’s made no effort to remove it, and though she’d probably lack protest if Adora were simply to do it for her, Adora is weirdly into the way she looks all cozy inside it right now.

Catra’s legs form a warm, snug cradle around Adora’s waist, letting her know _yes, yes, please_.

_Fuck. They’re doing this. They’reactuallydoingthis._

Adora wets the head of her cock through slick folds, teasing. Her heartbeat descends to her core. Before she's slipping, maddeningly slowly, into pure, tight, liquid _warmth._ She has to shake out the crude thought from her head _to move, to rut her hips, to just take_ the omega laying so obediently underneath her.

The omega that’s going _rigid_ underneath her.

Adora stops. “Shit, are you okay?”

Catra makes this noise, it’s not necessarily good, Adora thinks it might even be _disgruntled_ , like she’s annoyed with herself.

Adora frowns, concerned that moving will make whatever this is worse. Watching, as Catra wiggles her hips like she’s trying and failing to get comfortable, the scrunch in her face only confirming that.

Adora begins to pull out, guilt flushing her veins, but the sharp tips of Catra’s fingernails are suddenly digging into her hips as she _hisses_. “Fuck. Stay still. Please.”

“Sorry. Sorry.”

“Just—” Catra pants, “give me a minute.”

Adora starts, “we can stop, we don’t have to—”

“ _No_.” As though that thought is equally unbearable, and then, she must be noticing how distraught Adora doubtlessly looks right now. “Hey. Hey, it’s _okay_ , Adora, it’s not your fault, come back to me. I’m the one who got all cocky.” That gorgeous fucking smirk is back, it’s all the reassurance she needs that Catra’s not been pushed beyond a limit.

Adora lowers closer into Catra’s body, burying her nose in her neck, careful not to jostle where their bodies are joined. “I love you.”

She feels the rumble of her chest as Catra’s laughs underneath her. “I love you too, you big, beautiful, idiot.”

This kiss is slow, languid. Catra’s teeth graze over her bottom lip but she’s not biting, she’s _sighing,_ like it’s heaven.

After a while of getting lost in one another, Catra prompts, “I think you can move now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s, uh—” Catra swallows thickly. “It’s a lot. But, like, just that little bit too much that it’s perfect.”

Adora carefully rolls her hips, testing. Catra’s immediately whimpering, but that — that’s a _good_ sound this time, she knows. Sinking deeper than she managed initially.

"Nuhngh," Catra's hands fly to brace against her hip bones. It’s practically gasped, "Fuck, there's _more_?"

Adora snorts, “just that _little_ bit too much, huh?”

“Shut up,” she’s rolling her eyes — all fond and entranced. Before her hands change after a beat from bracing, to _pulling,_ encouraging Adora to move again now she’s adapted, walls fluttering around her. All breathy when she says, “it _is_ perfect. You’re perfect.”

Adora very nearly starts sobbing, and the only reason that doesn’t happen is because Catra rolls her hips greedily and the noise that escapes is instead a groan.

Catra’s eyes flutter closed like the beat of a butterfly’s wing. She’s wincing minutely with each thrust; but the sting against the skin of Adora’s hips communicates to keep going despite it.

“Try to relax, okay?”

“I’m relaxed.” Catra says breezily. “Super-duper relaxed. Like a ragdoll over here.”

Then they’re giggling, honest-to-god _giggling_. Adora’s not sure who starts first, only that it’s all snorty and stupid and so unlike them, but also so _right._ And it might be all they both needed.

Adora attempts not to, she thinks it might be a bit obscene, but curiosity is begging her to glance down to where her cock is buried between the legs of the omega below her right now. She doesn't look easy for Catra to take, but she's taking her _so well_ anyway.

The shaky, “fuck,” that slips out of Adora is unconscious. It makes Catra blush like the blood in her cheeks could spark a match stick. Adora pushes deeper with the next roll, Catra releasing this deep, gravelly moan in response. “That’s it,” she praises. “That’s it, baby.”

Adora’s completely enthralled by the way Catra’s whole body moves, _rocks_ , below her from the motion of each thrust. She’s _moving_ Catra. _She’s moving Catra_ , and she’s meeting her halfway each and every time.

A hand slides from Adora’s hip to hook around her shoulder, asking for _closer. S_ he lowers further onto her forearms, carefully, conscientiously, so that her weight hits that sweet spot of _not too much_ and _just enough._ Observing Catra’s head rolling back into the mess of nest bedding as Adora nuzzles into the sharp line of her jaw.

Offering only gentle kisses as she travels down toward her shoulder. Her mouth passes over _that_ place. Catra’s breath audibly stills, tilting oh so invitingly, but Adora knows sometimes that’s just a reflex. _But, fuck, if it wouldn’t be so goddamn easy to just—_

“Adora,” Catra whines, one hand moving to thump a fist heatlessly into Adora’s chest to get her attention. She thinks then, maybe it wasn’t the first time Catra had said it.

She pulls away. “Everything okay?”

“You were growling again,” she explains croakily. Her eyes open now, and it’s almost alarming how _blown_ they are. Black as obsidian. Her chest rising like she’s just finished a race and her face flushed scarlet. “Off,” she orders weakly, “get off.”

“Uh,” It’s the last thing she wants to do, obviously, but she does anyway. Pulling back till she’s perched on her knees.

Catra pushes herself up on wobbly arms, "too hot," and then she yanks the hoodie off over her head, the t-shirt that's underneath too, and then repositions — before Adora can even ask if she did something wrong, or even marvel at _oh shit, boobs_ — onto her _hands and knees._ Front lowered so her face is practically buried in the comforter, back arched, knuckles clutching around bedding. “Don’t make a big deal about it.” Catra says, _incredibly_ breathy.

_Well, shit._

The emphatic whine Catra lets out in response to Adora pushing back in again is near-mythical. She drapes herself weightlessly over the curve of Catra’s form, one of the omega’s hands moving to brace around Adora’s wrists where they’re resting on the mattress to hold herself up.

Panting, Adora affirms, “you’re being such a good girl for me.”

Catra _trembles._ The fit of her backside against Adora’s rutting hips feeling as though they were designed to be there, together.

 _This is perfect._ This is so fucking perfect, and four years are suddenly shrinking into nothing, because they're gone, they're over, and now Catra's here with her in the most earth-shatteringly intimate sense and anything else feels inconsequential.

Adora growls, fully in control of it this time. Because _Catra wants me,_ it’s still astounding _._ And it’s as if she's stumbled across an old, missing puzzle piece in a dark and dusty corner of the attic. Because Adora's never been comfortable as an alpha, not fully. But she can be this. Wholeheartedly. She can be Catra's.

Unburdened, Adora asks, "can I—?"

“Yes. God, yes.” Catra gasps, tilting her neck for her.

Adora bites. And it's sudden, blinding euphoria.

Catra's making this noise that sounds like some straight out of scripture as Adora's descended canines pierce into the skin of her neck, feeling the need to apologise a moment later for the taste of copper she finds on her tongue — but her jaw isn't going anywhere for a bit.

Entrapta has described it as fireworks, but machine recordings are a candle held to a blazing _star_ when compared to the real thing.

It's like the universe is suddenly expanding within the air around them, like they’re breathing in stardust, like they always have been but only just _now_ been made aware of that fact. And they’re held weightless, gasping, within it. This _thing_ that’s nebulous and bright and _wonderful._

Before it all settles, and she returns to the heart beating like a humming bird's wing and the warm body that is Catra underneath her.

She computes, faintly, that Catra’s _crashing_. Walls restricting uncontrollably around her shaft, before Catra’s releasing these violently shuddering breaths like she's just been drowning and is now gasping for air.

“Catra,” she chokes, treacherously close.

“Inside,” Catra’s panting, pushing back against Adora’s pelvis desperately. “Fuck, inside, please, you’re good, we’re good.”

Adora’s canines descend for a third time that evening just to fuck up the skin of Catra’s neck some more, apparently. It’s gonna be a messy bruise in the morning. But Adora doesn’t have the mind to care because she’s releasing. Intensely enough that it gives her vertigo. Snug up inside Catra’s warmth, and the omega’s shuffling to open her legs up just a little bit more and _pressing_.

It’s unadulterated _bliss._

And then, Catra’s teeth are sinking down around Adora’s wrist and _ow_ , but also, _fuck yes, absolutely._

They’re both weak limbed, sweaty _wrecks_ when Adora pulls out, flopping beside Catra after she releases the hold of her jaw, before rolling languidly onto her back.

“I think you just ruined me,” Catra smirks, her head rotating toward Adora’s. “I imagine you’ll want to inquire about a dowry now, but I’ll have to warn you in advance, my family is, tragically, _penniless_.”

Adora snorts again, listening to the song of it as Catra lets out this gently delirious laugh.

"Oh, hang on a minute," Adora hushes before she's up, out of bed and searching for something disposable to clear up the mess she's left between Catra's legs. The omega's immediately whining at the cold space Adora leaves behind. Returning, and aware of the way Catra's observing her, all fond and sentimental, as Adora looks after her.

She climbs back into the bed once finished, once cleaned, pulling Catra by looping an arm underneath her torso, closer, _closer_ until her face is hidden under the crook of Catra's neck. She can still feel the quickened heartbeat and the unsteady breaths from inside Catra's sternum, but they're calming. Slowing.

Until, that is, Adora's hand migrates to release the bra by the hooks between Catra's shoulder blades still. "These are fucking amazing by the way," she notes, the breath if her mouth dancing over a nipple once the material is out of the way. "Can you just give me a minute?"

Catra sniggers, pink-cheeked, "sure."

Then, Adora's mouth latches around soft flesh. Catra’s hand is gently curling into her hair again, pulling her inward as she lets out this joyful hum.

Adora pauses, “this isn’t gonna get you all worked up again is it?”

“I’m sure you could deal with it if it did,” Catra says airly. “But I’ve never really, um, found this particularly sexual? But it’s nice.” The warmth of Adora’s mouth returns. “Hmhmm, s’nice...”

She stays there for a few minutes, enjoying how Catra’s fingers massage through her scalp — she thinks she might even be purring, but that’s equally likely, she admits, to be herself.

Catra enfolds a blanket over their bodies once Adora’s sated herself. Curling into one another.

“Hey, uh,” Catra begins, the words vibrating against Adora’s collar bone. "Why didn't you, um…?" she’s making a crude gesture with her hands like a balloon inflating.

Adora groans, hiding her face in the pillows bashfully. "I think you'd need to be in heat for that."

"Oh," Catra replies, breathless.

"Have you ever had one?" Adora inquires, tentative. "A heat?"

Catra shakes her head. "No, I got the implant before they began. So it’ll be pretty earth-shattering the first time it does happen, I hope you're prepared for that."

Adora smiles contentedly. “I think I’m prepared for anything.”

Catra murmurs something incomprehensible that Adora thinks might be _good_ with all the syllables hushed like she’s falling asleep.

And Adora feels no need to prevent that.

* * *

Adora wakes when her arm brushes lazily over sheets and the skin there screams with a sting. Eyes opening blearily to glance at the mate mark that exists on her wrist now.

 _That’s unique_ , she thinks. Her breath catching in her lungs over the knowledge that she has a _mate_. That she’s bonded with Catra, that they’re _each other’s_ now.

The girl in question is laying beside her. Sleeping, still, positioned on her front with her face nuzzled into the joint of her own elbow.

Happiness blooms like a flower opening under the light of the sun in Adora’s heart then, to the extent it’s almost _unbearable_. But honestly, apart from that… she doesn’t feel any different.

Adora frowns.

She only feels a pinch guilty when she nudges Catra awake, ignoring the grumbles and the way she tries to burrow further into the bedding.

“Catra,” she calls, “Catra wake up.”

It might be _fuck off,_ the thing she’s mumbling, but then her eyes blink open all drowsily, and Adora’s heart trips over how endearing she looks in the soft light or morning. “What?”

“Do you feel any different?”

Catra cocks an eyebrow. “You woke me up at disgusting-o’clock in the morning to ask me if I feel… any _different_?”

“Yeah,” Adora confirms. “Do you?”

“Uh,” Catra’s forehead wrinkles, taking a moment like she’s testing out her own proprioception. “I mean, my shoulder’s thumping like I’m not gonna want to move it for the next week, thanks for that.”

“Sorry.” _Only a little bit._ “But you feel the same? Other than that? No brand new, life-altering, cosmic pull?”

"Uh, no?" Catra's frown expands. "I feel exactly the same as… as always."

"Me too." She admits, worried. "Do you think I didn't bite hard enough?"

"Oh, you bit _plenty_ hard enough."

"Sorry." _Maybe actually a little bit for_ that _._

But then Catra's expression is turning contemplative, wide-eyed, whispering, "shit, what if Perfuma was right?"

"About what?"

"About _us_." Catra says, “about being—” a hand moves carefully to the fresh mark on her neck, eyebrows raising.

“Oh,” a rush of amazement leaves Adora’s lungs. “I guess it’s... possible.” That would, actually, explain. _A lot._ But biteless mate bonds were largely unheard of, mythical, according to most. “Um, but how?”

Catra shrugs, “why don't you try and explain a whole universe of quantum physics while you're at it. But, she has this theory that the most important part is all—” a finger taps over Adora’s heart. “—in there.”

Adora captures Catra's face in her hands then, surging forward to kiss her like it's suddenly the most important thing in the world. Catra squeaks a little. "I love you, I love you so much."

"Yeah, I kinda assumed we'd covered that. Extensively." But she's beaming. "I love you too, you dork." And Adora believes, for the first time, _unreservedly_ , that maybe that had always been true.

Catra leans to kiss her back. And suddenly, Adora’s phone is ringing from _somewhere._

“Ughhh,” Catra ends up delving into Adora’s pillow instead, hiding from the noise as Adora scrambles to find the device. “What time is it, why have you got someone calling you?”

 _It’s probably one of our friends_ , Adora assumes.

It’s nine, on the dot. But it’s not a number her phone recognises.

She slips out the room to answer, wondering then if her absence would hurt more than the disturbance. “Hello?”

A few minutes later, Catra’s sat up and waiting at the foot of the mattress as she returns. Puzzle all over her forehead. “What was that?”

“Uh,” Adora begins, like she can’t quite believe it, “I have an interview.” Her mate's face _drops_ , before she’s scrambling to explain, “ _here_. I got an interview here, I sent this local publishing house my thesis and a couple other college projects, and they said they wanted to set up a meeting _next week_ to discuss an intern position.”

Catra flashes a grin. “So. I guess you’re really sticking around then, huh?”

“Of course,” Adora promises, sitting, before she’s skirting her arms around Catra’s waist, leaning their foreheads together. “I have no intention of leaving you ever again.”

Catra kisses her, and once again, she’s murmuring something incomprehensible against her mouth that Adora thinks might be _good._

And yeah, Adora can agree with that.

* * *

Four years pass like rose petals running through her fingers.

Adora’s just got off work. Her brother’s flight lands in an hour, which gives her just enough time to pick up Catra from the studio before migrating toward arrivals.

Her wife’s not stood waiting outside the building, which Adora knows means that she’s probably caught up painting or still with a class despite her hours having already ended.

The bell chime is familiar when she pushes the front door open. Perfuma sends her a welcoming smile across the room — it’s a kids class today, evidently. But by the looks of it, it’s not a school trip, because they’re an uneven collection of ages.

She’s directed with a nod toward where she discovers Catra sitting by a table closer to the edge of the room. There’s a toddler on her lap. Catra’s drawing swirls over paper while the child’s significantly smaller hand clutches onto the pen above hers. She’s talking to them as they work, but it’s too faint to pick up.

It is, unquestionably.

_Adorable._

Catra finally notices her, attention flickering to where Adora’s patiently stood by the entrance, before she’s scooting the little one off her lap, attentively directing them toward one of the other helpers.

Then, Catra’s standing and practically skipping toward her.

“You’re _so_ cute,” Adora notes once she’s close, beaming.

“Shut up,” Catra’s eyes roll harmlessly. “Don’t let the word spread. It would be _disastrous_ for my reputation.”

“Mmhm,” Adora’s gaze falls back to the kid she’d been working with, as Catra collects her belongings off a coat rack. “Who was that?”

“Who?” Catra follows her eyes, voice softening. “Finn? They’re one of the foster kids we’re working with.”

 _Oh,_ Adora’s heart breaks a little bit for them. “They seemed to like you.”

“Yeah, my dead leg would suggest that too; they’ve been sat on me for over an hour.” She loops her scarf loosely around her neck, tone gentle despite the way it’s set up as a complaint. “They’re pretty sweet though.”

Adora’s definitely going to want to bring this up again later, but then, Catra’s inquiring, “you? How was your day?”

“Weird, actually,” Adora recounts as she takes her wife’s hand, fingers woven together like threads, before she’s walking them outside and fondly observing Catra’s final glance back towards Finn. And she wonders then, if she’s not the only one ready for that conversation. “My mom called.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. She asked if she could visit next weekend, then travel back with Adam and Teela late on Sunday. Would you be okay with that?” Because it's her home too now, this place by the sea where they live, this place where she's regularly _nesting_

"Do you need me _not_ to be?” Catra tilts her head, making Adora smile like a lovestruck idiot.

“I don’t know yet, honestly.”

“Well, I’m sure we’ll figure it out, right?” Catra assures, contemplating; “how does she feel about cats? Maybe letting Melog sleep at the foot of her bed will scare her off if things go horrendously.” Then, indiscreetly, Catra’s slipping the keys out from Adora’s back pocket just as they approach the car. “You good if I drive?”

Adora cocks an eyebrow. “It’s not me that will be left waiting outside the airport when we’re late.”

“You’re forgetting that Adam _loves_ me,” she boasts, jumping around to the driver’s side door, “I think I’ll be forgiven.”

And Adora’s heart is as warm as a sun beam.

* * *

Adora’s four.

The girl she’s just accidentally crashed into with her tricycle on the lane by the house is _glowering_ at her. Which she thinks is unfair. She’s apologised almost ten whole times now, _and_ helped her back onto her feet.

“I’m sowwy.” Maybe once more will work.

But the frown’s not disappearing, the dark-haired girl is still angry, glancing down at the red, scuffed skin of her palm.

“Oh,” Adora realises, “you have an ouchie.”

She makes a hissing sound as Adora reaches out. She _is_ hurt, but Adora thinks she might also be lost.

“Is okay, my Ma can help,” Adora offers her hand for the other girl to take instead, only if she wants to. “Whas your name?”

She hesitates, clutching her wrist to her chest, and then, “Catra.”

Adora thinks it’s fun, _pretty_ , the way she rolls the r like that. “Ma has ice cream?”

It is, apparently, too tempting to turn down, because Catra’s suddenly, but still a pinch wary, accepting Adora’s hand with her good one.

Adora smiles, before she begins to lead the shorter girl toward the front door. Discarding the bike near the grass for now.

“My name’s Adowa.”

Fin


End file.
